(navigation image)
Home American Libraries | Canadian Libraries | Universal Library | Community Texts | Project Gutenberg | Children's Library | Biodiversity Heritage Library | Additional Collections
Search: Advanced Search
Anonymous User (login or join us)
Upload
See other formats

Full text of "Burton's Gentleman's Magazine and American Monthly Review"

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 
to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 
publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 

We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 



at |http : //books . google . com/ 





L ^ 




■&ZV 



\ 



< . 



V 



Digitized by 



Google ?' 



I- 





^lligli and low, rmk and fQboriiiiation,Tfe1ie 

^ inie ; whoierer it of ■ humane and affabli 

reqnim no law but hit word to make liiu 

* anoor liie tUkn of the cank as well « 



Diyii& 



Digitized by 



Google 



rJ 



Digitized by 



Google 






TO OUR READERS 



Nothing can be more gratifying to an Editor, at the close of each suc^ 
ceeding volume of his work, than to be able to state the proud conscious- 
ness of increased success, and the probability of a still more extended pa- 
tronage to the volume about to commence. We feel so 'satisfied with the 
behaviour of our friends towards our periodical bantling, that we have de* 
termined to extend our liabilities — to become owner as well as editor — ^and 
risk an increased expenditure in the conduct of our favorite work. We have 

no fears respecting the result. 

> 

Again, we tender our thanks to various of our contributors, whose steady 
kindness deserves our warmest gratitude. 

PhUadelphia, December U/, 18S8. W. E. B. 



' Digitized by VjOOQ iC 



Digitized by 



Google 



.i 



CONTENTS. 



Agom BMamont, a Tile, . . . . 
r jimwnuy Register for July, . . . 

■ ■ Aogaeti 

■ September, 

■ October, 

■ November, 

• December, 



Paoc. 
. 33 

. 58 
. 135 
. 305 
. 277 
. 350 
. 413 
. 50 
135 



Apart fiom Thee, a Poem, 
August, Dailjr Calendar ibr 

Aaiiqoatad £xpositioo, 160 

Arthur Gordon Pym, KkIi. fio» Narmtive of 911 

Astomn, a Sonoer, SK25 

A Little While Ago, a PloeSt 

Aaaedolee of Nepoleon, 387 

Aluie apoD the Midnight Deck, with Mosio. . 410 
American Joamal of Medical fieiaiice, fiittaele 
kom 435 



125/ 4^ragment 



B. 

Baker's Daaghter, The, a Tale, . . 
Bashfol YouDg Geotleman, The . . 
Bortoo, or The Sciges, Extracts from 
Beggars, Irish, Chapter on . . . . 

Bible, Earljr MS. and Editions of . . 
Bring me a fluwer that will not fade, 
Buenos Ayres, Account of . . . . 

Bit o* Writing, Extracts from . . . 
Bringing Things to the Point, a Tale, 
Britiih Senate, Notices of . . . . 

Benedetti's Adieu, ...... 

Bsntleya Miscellany, 



Charles, a Tale of the American Revoltttion, . 

Calderon the Courtier, Notice of 

Clement Falconer, or Blemoiis of a Toung Whig, 

with Extracts, 

Clockmaker, or the Sayings and Doings of Sam 

Slick, second series, 

Dolumbos, a Poem, 

Cromwell's Compact with the Devil, . . . 

Christmas Eve, a Tkle, 

Country Stories,' Kxuacti from 

City of the Czar, Extracts ffon 

D. 



Drvnkard's Boy, The, a Poem, 

Deserted Bride, and other Poems, Notice of 
^Dsath of the Aged, The, a Poem, . . . . 
Hawsiirns and Palmyra, a Journey to the Easl^ 

Duty and Inelinataon, Noliee of 

1 «f Badajoi, a Tble, 

r» Daily Calendar fa 



40 
71 
75 
143 
158 
833 
263 
385 
331 
860 
373 
436 



10 
75 

310 

314 
261 
373 
400 
418 
434 



33 

66 
107 
319 
861 
408 
413 



pAfll. 

Evangelieal Toung Lady, The ..!... 38 

eastern Penitentiary, The . . . I . . . 70 
fiatraeiB from the Journal of a Passenger ftom 
Philadelphia to New Orleans, 93*170<-33%-805 

Embellishments, Rhetorioal 198 

Emigrant and Ike Indian, a Pant, 198 

Epigrams, 331 

Evening MnsiDgs, 405 



F. 



Its of an Indian Poem, 66 

French Grammar and Exeeoiass, 74 

Fiend Lover, The, a Tale of Oberwe«el> . . 163 

FalM Champion, The, a Tale, 368 

Farewell 317 

Pill Ike Cup, the Bowl, the GlaiB, .... 847 

Flower Girl. The 373 



G. 



Gentleman's Remoise. extracted fiom the MS. 
Diary of an English Gentleman tnveUing in 

Italy, in 16—, 16 

Gift, an American Annual, Notices of . 230—381 
Goldsmiths, The, a Tale of the Plague of Lon- 
don, 365 



H. 



Henry Pulteney, a Novel 51— .138 

Housekeeper's Book, by a Lady, 67 

How shall I Govern my School f 73 

Hopes and Recollections of Egypt, a Poem, . 145 

Home, a Poem, 301 

Homeward Bound, Eztracta from 316 

HurrouoAL Skktchis : 

Dionysios of FhocoBa 836 

Themistocles in Exile, 836 

Song of an Athenian, 837 

The Last Woids of the Lsit Roman, . , . 337 

The Lament of Mowbray, 336 

Regulus, 337 

Tbrasybulos at Phyle, 881 

To the Greeks, 883 

The Warrior's Blood 383 

The Dying Chieftain, 388 

Home, a Poem, 345 

Health and Beauty, 384 

lianington*s Diorama^ 391 

Hymn to Love^ 807 

B»n^ « ^^1^.^^^*. BAM 



CONTENTS. 



Paok. 

Italy, hf an AnMricao, with Eztraeti, ... 65 

Indian Maid, The, a Tale, .108 

I love the Sea, 127 

Indian Sammer, . , 220 

Impoatoree of Literary Men, 403 



Jane, a Sonnet, 50 

Jaly, a Sonnet, 50 

July, Daily Calendar for 58 

Jane Lomaz, or a Mother's Crime, .... 64 

JOUINAL OF A PlSilNOni FROM PhILADXLPHIA TO 

Niw Orlkams. 

Leaf 1 92 

Leaf » l.qO 

Leaflir 222 

Leaf IV 305 

Jane Auttin, Nbtiee of her Works, ... .20 
Jorrock's Jadnts and Jollities, Notice of . . 284 
Jesterand his Child, a Tale, 293 

K. 

Komer, Theodor, Account of the Life and 
Works of, 119—167 



Lazy Young Lady, The 
Life, an fiasay, . . . 



27 

29 

Lkatis frqm mt J0URN4L, by an Officer in the 
United Stales Navy : 

No. I. Monte Video, ....... 31 

No. ir. Buenos Ay res, 263 

No. III. Kiode Janeiro, 338 

Lea VIS from a Life in London : 

No. IV. The Baker's Daughter, .... 
No. V. The Bumpkin at Bay, 

Love of Woman. The, Dramatic Sketch, . . 
Lights and Shadows of Irish Life, £xts. from 

Luisow's Wild Chase, a Poem, 

Loxnry, Prevalence of ....%.. 

Love is a Sickness full of Woes, 

Lottery Ticket. The. a Tale, 

Lo.nely Heirt. The. R Poem, 

Landon. Notice of the Works of Miss . . . 

Lost Fisherman, The. a Tale, 

Leavbs from a Life in London, No. 5. The 

Bumpkiir at Btfy 

life Of Hannah More, Notice of 

M. 



40 
392 

96 
142 
169 
J85 
198 
224 
244 
289 
340 

392 

426 



Maniac. The, ^ Poem, 

Matter of-Fact Young Lady, The . . . 

Monte Video, Account of 

MuibC: The Pic-Nie, a Comic Song, . . 
— * Ruw the Boat Merrily, . . . 

■ I ,Bvon Bphiybig. a Comic Song, . 
r— The pid Bachelor, ditto. . . . 

1 . I'm a. R^niipg Roving Blade, • 
--. Abn^ Upon the Midnight Deck, 



9 

25 

31 

62 

14f) 

202 

274 

348 

410 i 



Manual of Politeness. Notice of 70 

Memoirs of Sir William KntghtoD» .... 73 

Music of Nature, Extracts from 14S 

Miner's Life. The 169 

Mad Aeiors 181 

Music, Verses on . . • 304 

Massarre of the Jews at Lishon, Account of . 3Q9 
Man of Many Hopes, a Tale, . . 253—308*374 

Managerial Eccentricities, 26S 

Mounds of the Mississippi 971 

Morning among the Alpa, 383 

Marion, 304 

Miami Valley « . . 406 

Middy, The, Extracts from 429 

N. 

Neptune, 28 

Nicholas Nicklehy. Life and Adventures of 66 

New York Mirror, Notice of 74 

Nourmahal. To 270 

Napoleon and his Times. Extracts liom . . . 287 

November Daily Calendar for 350 

o. 

Oliver Twiat 66 

On seeing a Dove near the Peak of the Allegheny 

Mountain, 91 

On parting with a favorite Picture 118 

Oh, weep not now, 161 

On Revisiting the Wiasahiccon, a Pocm» . . 166 

Outward Bound, Extracts from 218 

Old Customs arid Manners. ....... 273 

Old Bar-.heior. a Comic Song, 274 

October. Daily Calendar for 277 

Oddities of London Life, Extracts from . . . 363 

P, 

Pantheon, The 28 

PHILAniLPHfA LaWYIE, PaGIS FROM THE DlART OV 

No. V. The Will, 54 

No. VI. The Reprieve, 195 

Pic Nic, The, a Comic Song, 63 

POETB AND TBXIR POBTRT : 

No. n. Theodor Komer 119 

No. 111. Theodor Korner 167 

Na IV. Poetry of Poland, 249 

PUgne at Malta, Horrible Acconnt of ... 125 

Plat Houbi Peoitlb : 

No. II. Mad Actors— Miss Macaiiley, . . 181 

No. III. Managerial Eocentricitiea, . . . 265 

Properiiea of Water, Essay on 177 

Prevalence of Luxury. EkSay on 185 

Poetical Portraiui 209 

Poland, The Poetry of 249 

Passing Thoughts, 320 

Panorama of Life, a Tale, 325 

Picciola.or, Captivity Captive, ExUacts Irom 362 

Public Character, a Large 364 

Palatine, The, the Painter, the Princess, and the 

Page, a Tale, 383 



POETRY, 



Pagk. 

Tlie Maniac, 9 

When I Wish to Die 15 

TheWanderei, 24 

ThePantheoD, % 



Pace 

To-F-T — , . ^ 

The Drunkard's Boy, 39 

Verses. ...... Digfeeol b^VaOOQlC38 

Apart from Thee, ^ 39 



CONTENTS. 



m 



Page. , 

I for the Saaion, 50 

) Pie Ntc, 50 

-vif ragmeat of an Indian Poem, 66 

"Hie Eaaiern Penitentiary, 70 

Od feeing a Du^e flying near the Peak of one 

of ihe Altegheniee, 91 

Bemeoiber Me, 95 

We are Fading Away, 95 

n» Love of Woman, a Diamatic Sketch, . . 96 

The Death of the Aged, 107 

To a While Ruae 107 

On Parting with a Favorite Picture, . . . . 118 

War Song 121 

Prayer During Battle, 133 

Farewell to life, 123 

Men and Boys, a War Song, 123 

I bear them leil of Melody, 124 

] Lore tbe Sea J27 

Row the Boat Merrily, 140 

I have heard jny own Darling's fint Low Ciy, 145 

Hopes and Reoolleciioai of Egypt, .... 14f) 

ToMin , 152 

Ob. Weep Not Now 161 

On RevMiiiog the Winahiccoo, 166 

Tbe Sultan's Entry into Belgrade 167 

8olil<<)uy over a City by Night 168 

Tbe Miner's Life 168 

Lttiziiw's Wild Chase 169 

ToaCimeo 173 

To a Lady Weeping for the Loss of^ Bird, 176 

Smnei to Genius, 180 

Zephaniah DioUttle, 187 

Tbe Sun 194 

Song, by DdnieU 1590 198 

Htune, 201 

Baron Bohnbig, the Jumper, 302 

Music, 204 

Poeiical Portraits 209 

Bring me a Flower that will not fade, . , . 223 



Paof. 

Sonnets for tbe Seaaon, 5S5 

Dionysitts of Phocoea, 22S 

Tfaemistocles in Exile 236 

Song of an Athenian, . . , 237 

The Latt Words ol the Last of the Romans, . 227 

The Lonely Heart. 244 

Home ^ . . . 345 

Sally Baker, a Ballad 248 

Her Lips are ever Streaming, 249 

Ode to Napoleon, 350 

Had I the Royal Eagle's Wing, . . . . ' 351 

The Goddess uf Darkness, '251 

A Little While Ago, '253 

Columbus, * 261 

Rhymes of a Traveller, * 363 

ToNourroahal, ' 319 

The Old Bachelor, a Comic Song * 274 

Invitation to Joy, 376 

Morning Among tbe Alps, 283 

Shelley's Obsequies, 383 

To Marion, 303 

The Spirit of Nature, . . t 304 

Hymn to Love, 307 

Farewell 317 

Passing Thoughts 320 

The Lament of Mowbray, 336 

Regulus, 337 

Tboee Gentle Eyes, 339 

A Drinking Song 347 

I'm a Ranting Roving Blade, 348 

The Hues of Autumn, 360 

Benedetii's Adieu, 373 

Tne Flower Girl, 373 

A Song for the Table, 391 

Stanzas for Music, 399 

Evening Musings, 405 

Alone Upon tbe Midnight Deck, 410 

The Suicken One, 417 



R. 



Reapeclability, or the Yankee Merchant's Fa- 
mily, a Tale 

Romantic Yoang Lady, The . . . 



Pagi. 

5 

25 



Paox 

Remember Me, a Poem 95 

Rhetorical Embclii»hments, Specimens of . . 193 
Richard Hurdis, the Avenger of Blood, . . . 290 

Rio de Janeiro, Account of 338 

Romance of Vienna, Notice of 364 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 



Paoi 

Jane Lomaz, or a Mother's Crime, ^ . • . 64 

V Italy, by an American, with Extracts, ... 65 

Skeiches, by Boify 66 

Oliver Twint, 66 

Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, . 66 

Deserted Bride and other Poems, with EztracU, 66 

Eoo^ekeeper'a Book, by a Lady 67 

llie Squire, with Extracts, 68 

A Manual of Politeness 70 

Viewa of Philadelphia and its Vicinity, with 

Pueiicjl Illustrations and Prose Descriptions. 70 
Sketchce of ^Young Ladies and Gentlemen, 

with Evracta, ^ 71 

How Shall 1 Govern my School, with Extracta, 73 

MeiDoirt <it Sir William Knighton, .... 73 

Progressive French Grammar and £xerciaea, . 74 

The New York Mirror, 74 

Gddeion the Coortier, 75 

Burton, or the Beiges, with ExtracH, .... 75 

Lighia and Sbadowa of Irish Life, with Extneia, 14S 

Mosie of Natare, with Extracts, 145 

Clement Falconer, or Memoirs of a Toaog 

Whig, with Eztiacla, 910 



Paob. 

Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, with Eili., 210 

Sketch of the Poetical Cbaractor, .... 213 

Tbe Clock Maker, second series, with Extracts, 314 

Charcoal Sketches second edition, .... 315 

Homewaitl Bound, or The Chase, wiih Exlraeta. 316 
Outward ^onnd.or a Merchant's Adventures, 

with Extracts 318 

Damascus and Palmyra, or a Joainey to the 

East 219 

Novels of Jane Austin 320 

The GIA. for 1839 with Extracts, . . 330—381 

The Violet 1839. Notice of 330—390 

Jorrock*s Jaunts and Jollities, 384 

Yellow Plush Correspondence, 384 

Hf alth and Beauty, an ExplanatioD of the Laws 

of Exercise, 384 

The Bit o*. Writin*, and other Tales, with Exts., 385 
Napoleon and hia Tii&es, by Caolinoourt, with 

Extracts, ,...'. 387 

TheWirks of L. E. L. 389 

Richard Hurdis. a Tale of Alabama, • • - ' ^ 

A Trip to Boston, in a Series of Letters, • • ^1 

Hanington'i Dionimaa, ^^ 



O0«TB1IV0. 



Page. 
Biirrf AnitiD, or AdTenlniM in iIm Bniilih 

Army, with Eztradi, 355 

Wflvuk SoeMs, with other Poemi, with Estik, 308 
no Britith Senate, a Moood wriei of Recollco- 

UoMofLordaand CoiiiiiioQ9,wiihaii£itrac^ 360 

D«tf and Inclinatien 361 

Piceiola, or Captivity Captire, with an £itiact» 369 

Oddiiiet of LAodoo Life, with fizlnet^ ... 363 

The Romance of Viemm, 364 

Cbonti7Stonea,hyMiHMitlM»wilh£itmeiv, 418 



Pioi. 

The Stranger in China, with ExtaMi^ . . . 4JM) 
The Middy, or Scenei from the life of Uwud 

Laacellei, with Eitracli^ 488 

Dramatic Works of Skaktpean, 423 

The City of the Cnr, With ExtraoM, ... 484 
American Journal of Medical Sfl^aoMy wkfa 

Extracti, 48S 

Life of Hannah Mere, 486 

Bentley'a BliioaUami, 486 



s. 

Paoi. 

Seat of Infamy, The, a Tale 19 

8ketchei of Yoang Ladiea and GentleoMB, . . 85 

Senneia for the Seaaon, , . 50 

flketchei by Boi, 66 

flqaiie, The, Extiadi from tho M^ri of . . 68 

Seven Adjutanti, The, a Tale, 77 

flehneidenMein, or the Enchanted Small ClaChei, 

• Tale, 108 

Mluif • Nigger, a Sketch, 153 

SciniBLU, vaoM the Blank Book or ▲ BiiuoanA* 

FHUU 

Early ManuacripH and Editiona of the BiUe, 158 

Antiquated Ezpoiition, 160 

Meorian MiMimippi, • . . 271 

Cromwell's Compact with the Devil, . . . 278 

Old Cttstoma and Manoen, 873 

Conci«e Account of many cnrioni Impottnrea 

of Literary Men, 403 

Saltan's Entry into Belgrade, Account of . . 167 

Sonnet to Genius, . . . . ? 180 



9sm, 

San, The, a Poem M4 

September Daily Calendar for 885 

Sketch of the PoeUcal Ghanclir, 818 

Summer, Indian 880 

Sally Baker, a Ballad d48 

Shelley'a Obsequies, • . 883 

Seducer, The, a lUe, ; . 318 

Sylvan Scenes, ExtiaelB fioa S68 

Song for the Table, 891 

Stansas for Music, 819 

Stricken One, The, a Poem 417 

Stranger in China, Extracts flon 480 

Shakspeare, New Edition of 483 

T. 

To a White iPe, a Poem, 107 

ToMim —, 158 

To a Cameo, 173 

To a Lady Weeping for the him of her Bird, . 176 

Trip to Boston, NoUoe of 291 

Those Gentle Eyes, 339 



TALES AND ROMANCES. 



Paos 
Respectability, or The Yankee Merchants' Fa- 
mily, 5 

Charles, a Tale of the American Revdntioo, 10 

A Gentleman's Remorse, 16 

The Seat of Infomy, 19 

Agnes Beaumont, 33 

The Baker's Daughter, 40 

Henry Polteney, or the Adventures of a Wan- 
derer 51—128 

The Will 54 

The Seven Adjutants, or My Grandmother's Will, 77 

The Love of Woman, 96 

Schneidenstein, or tho Enchanted Siyall dolhea, 102 

The Indian Maid 108 

Selling a Nigger, 153 

The Fiend Lover, 162 

Marie Laurent, 174 

The Reprieve, 195 

The Emigrant and the Indian, 199 



Page. 

The Lottery Ticket, 224 

The Massacre of the Jewi at Lisbon, in 1506, 228 

Doctor D'Arsac, 246 

The Man of Many Hopes, . . . 253-308—374 

The False Champion 269 

The Church Yard Watch, 285 

The Jester and his Child 893 

The Seducer, 318 

Bringing Things to the Point, 321 

The Panomraa of Life, 325 

The Lost Irishman, 340 

The Goldsmith, a T^le of the Plague of London, 365 
The Pftlatine, the P^ter, the Princeai, and the 

Page 383 

The Bill of Exchange, 389 

The Bumpkin at Bay, 893 

Christmas Eve, - 400 

The Miami Valley, 406 

The Dean of Bad^ioK, ...-,... 408 



V. 

▼kwa of Philadelphia aiid VkinUy, 



PlflB. 

. 70 



YkDooai TBI FniNOH Miifism or Pouoi, Unm- 

UaUD PUHAOB IN THI Lvi Of 



No. I. Marie Laurent, 
No. II. Doctor D'Aiiao, 
Na ni. The Seducer, 
No. IV. Tha BiU of 



174 

846 

318 



W 

Paoi. 

When I Wish to Dio, 15 

Wanderer, The , . 34 

We are Fading Away, a Poem 95 

Water, or the Peculiar Propartiia of .... 177 

Winter, a SooooK, 385 

Y. 

Yellow Phish QwMpwMJanaPb IMet^ • - W4 

^ vjOOQle 

ZiphnitllMMtkbnrbfiii. , . . 9 . . 18? 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



Vol. III. 



JULY, 1838. 



No. 1. 



RESPECTABILITY: 

OR, THE YANKEE MERCHANT'S FAMILY. 

BY THE tUTHOR OF THB " SOUTH-WEST" AND "I*A FTTTE." 



« He thai haUa a trtde, luiUi an ettate."— Po«r Bicbard, 



Edwakd Bbldkn was the aon of a New England 
eoDDtry merchanf. He bad ten brolhera and sillers, 
the majority of whom were yoanger than himself. 
The head and front of these oflences was a merchant; 
that ia, he Jcept a grocery, next door to the principal 
tavern, at the corner of the stage road and main street 
of a certain viUage in the slate of Maine. All persons 
^ho buy goods to sell again across a counter, are, in 
Mew England, styled " Merchanis," not tradesmen or 
storekeepers, but emphatically and aristocratically — 
mtrchanls. Merchants are gentlemen ; therefore, Mr. 
Belden was a gentleman In the land of steady habits, 
a gentleman is one who is not a mechanic or operative. 
Mr. Belden had never soiled his hands with tools, al- 
though he sold egga and fish-hooks, nuts and raisins, 
tea and sugar by the pound, and retailed at one end 
of his dark crowded store, rum at three cents per glass. 
Be would sell oats by the peck and " strike" the 
measure himself, whiten his coat by shoveling flour 
aod meal from the barrel or " bin*' into the scales, 
and grease his gentlemanly fingers with the weighing 
tf butter, cheese, and lard. Yet, Mr. Belden was a 
sntlemaxi! he knew no vulgar occupations! Mrs. 
^Idoa was, of course, a lady — her husband was a 
nerchant! She gave parties, and her entertainments 
vere the envious gossip of the village. 
>« Ob," said Mrs. Belden, confidentially to the law- 
yer's lady, vi'ho had hinted in a very neighborly way, 
*iat she thought Mrs. Belden was becoming somewhat 
. eitravagant, " oh. my dear Mrs. Edgerton, they don't 
coat us nothing, at all, haidly— we get 'em all out o' 

Mia. Belden sever visited mechanics' wives, nor 
^flowed htr ehlldrea to amoeiate with mechanica' 
Aiildron. 
m^OL- in. A 



" Marro ! what do you think Ned did, comin' homo 
from school ?" shouted a little Belden, boiling inio the 
door, with eyes and mouth wide open, 1 1 is mother's 
mjunclionji fresh in his memory; "he spoke to Bill 
Webster, he did, for 1 see'd him!" and the hule aris- 
tocrat's eyes were popped two inches farther from hia 
head as he delivered the astounding informotioQ. 

"Edward! did you speak to that Bill Webster^' 
inquired his mother, in a lone of oflTemled dignity, as 
she scraped the dough which she was knrnHing, from 
her lady-like fingers; " didn't you know hiM fstther was' 
a cabinet-maker, and hasn't, I and your pa repeatedly 
told you not to speak lo such boys." 

" Well, ma, I only a&ked him about my les^^on,"^ 
pleaded the culprit in defence. - 

" About your lespon !" exclaimed the angry parent, 
" and what had Bill Webster to do either with yoa 
or your lesson V* 

" Because he's the best Fcholar a~t the academy, and 
at the head of the class, and even Judge Per kins];^ aoo 
is glad to get Bill to help him when he gets stuck." 

** I guess if hiii father knew it, he'd stick him," ex- 
claimed the injured parent, " and I bhall go right over 
after dinner and tell Mrs. Judge Perkins direcfly. It's 
a shame that those mechanics' children should be 
allowed lo go to the academy, and associate with 
gentlemen's sons. Here's your father ! now well see 
what he says about it." 

Mr. Belden, a short, stoat man, inclined to corpo* 
lency, with half- whiskers, blueish gray eyes, and 
rather pleasing physiognomy, entered from the store,, 
which was situated but a few yards distant from his 
two story white house, with green blinds, and a front 
yard with flowers and stone steps, aa Mrs. Belden wwi 
iwoDt to dawribo it Hii coat wan duated with floon 



THB GBNTLBMAN S MAGAZINE. 



and greaiy by contact with varioui unguinoiu aitielea 
hii store contained. 

'* What*8 the matler, what's the matter, my dear ?" 
he inquired, in a quirk and good-humored tone, seeing 
the children grouped around their mother, listening 
in timid silencer while the placidity of her features 
was considerably disturbed. 

'^Have the boys been at any of their capers?" 

*'' Capers!" repeated his offended lady; "all I can 
do and say I can't get these children to mind me. I 
wish you would take them in band, Mr. Belden, for 
they have tried my patience till I can't stand it no 
loDger." ' And she looked as if she were the most 
aggrieved woman in the world. 

" Why, why, what have they done ?" inquired the 
perplexed husband, still holding the handle of the 
door by which be had entered. 

A Done ! Here's Edward been speaking to that Bill 
Webster, when I have told him over and over again, 
not to have any thing to say to any such boys, and 
expressly told him and all the children, to speak to no 
boys nor girls, whose fathers a'n't merchants, like 
their'n, or lawyers, or doctors, or ministers, and they 
know it well, too." 

** Well, well, wife, 1*11 settle it," replied Mr. Belden, 
soothingly and good humoredly, for he had just made 
a good bargain with a country customer. *' £dward, 
come here to me." 

The culprit came ibrwaifd and placed himself by 
his father, who had taken a chair near the fire, con- 
scious that reproof or advice comes clothed with more 
dignity from one seated than standing. 

<* Edward, you are now in your fifteenth year," said 
the parent gravely. " In two or three years more you 
will enter col lege, and you should now learn to choose 
your associates." 

" Children, listen to your father," commanded Mrs. 
Belden, seeing the turn her husband's remarks were 
likely to take : "he speaks to you as well as to 
Edward." 

*' Irf the first place, my son, you must remember that 
your parents are regpectable — that is, move in the first 
circles, and arejiot mechanics. Now, in America, where 
there is no nobiliiy or titles tojny what is and what is 
not " respectable," why toe must have certain rules by 
which we can tell who are so and who are not so. 
Now the only way you, who are a boy, can tell what 
boys are "respectable" and what are not, is by knowing 
what profession their parents are oC Now, a mecha- 
nic of no kind is respectable; they all belong to the 
• lower class.' " 

Here his youngest daughter interrupted. "Isn't 
miliners and manty-makers * respectable,' pa 7" 

" No, my child, they are female mechanics, and are 
therefore, not respectable." 

«* Well, then, 1 spoke to Miss (Mrs., generally, in 
New England is pronounced Miss.) Miller's little girl, 
. Jane, and walked most home from school wiih her 
to-day. Oh, I'm so sorry!" The penitent criminal, 
'.aAer receiving a severe reproof from her mother, 
retreated behind a chair, and ihe father continued. 

" The question is, my son, when you wish to select 
yo^r t^mpanions at school, or at college, first to leam 



whether their fathers are rich ! For rich men cannot* 
of coarse, be mechanics. The next place, whether 
they are lawyers, merchants, doctors, or miaisters, ii>r^ 
in these four ' professions* are included all American 
gentlemen, except senators, state ofiScers, and each 
like, who are respectable by their ofllice. With no 
other families should you associate, for you should at 
all times endeavor to keep up the dignity of your 
family. Now, my son, you may sit down to your 
dinner." 

Here the merchant condi^ded, with an emphatic 
** ahem," and was about to mm his chair to take his 
seat at the table, when one of the younger boys hesi- 
tatingly inquired " if a watch-maker wath respecta 
bleT" 

" Why so, my child ?" rejoined the self-complacent 
parent 

"Coth, if 'ta'n't, no thpectable people ought to 
thpeak to you." 

. " Come to your dinner, children, and you, you little 
lisping chit, shall wait, for your forwardness," ex- 
claimed the now justly provoked mother, (for, Mr. 
Belden, reader, was unfortunately the son of a watch- 
maker!) Edward laughed in his sleeve; Mr. Belden 
carved the joint in silence, and in silence Mrs. Belden 
helped round the vegetables. During the recees of 
that very afternoon, the aristocratic scion, Edward 
Belden, played at catch and toss with that youn^ 
democrat. Bill Webster. This brief family scene is 
not introduced as aflecting materially the general in* 
terest of -our tale, but to disclose a state of maimers 
and mode of thinking, by no means uncommon in 
New England, presenting* a strange anomaly in the 
society of American materiel that hereafter may aflbrd 
materials for a pair of volumes. Yet, it is to such 
principles as those we have just heard dictated by a 
parent to his child that the adverse fortunes of that 
child and a thoueand others of New England's chil- 
dren are to be referred. The income Mr. Belden 
derived from his store, was irom eight hundred to two 
thousand dollars per annum. His domestic expenses, 
which could not "po&ibly be very great, as every thing 
from the children's shoes to their spelling books, from 
the ** kitchen girl's" calico and handkerchief to Mrs. 
Belden'9- silks and laces, besides all the provisions, 
'' came out of the store.** How they came into the store 
never entered into the brain of Mrs. Belden. She was 
satisfied her housekeeping could cost nothing; "never 
mind, it came out of the store," was the coup de grace, ^ 
by which she silenced every qualm of conscience or| 



friendly hint, from envious neighbors, upon her own'^Qo 
extravagance in household matters. For Mrs. Beldei^ 
sought to keep up appearances, and there were othei^ 
merchants* ladies in neighboring towns she must rival.? 
What with ^rs. Belden's expensive habits and M^'^^' 
Belden's moderate profits, he seldom laid by mord*^ 34 
than two or three hundred dollars a year. Yet, on; 95 
ibis small income, without the prospect of having a'^''^ 
dollar to give them when they become of age, hisT*^ 
children must be educated— gentlemen and ladies !— \ 
as if heirs to principalities. Let us see what gentle- %8 
men and ladies he made of them. It will serve hrieflj^ 
to develop a system of gentility and genteel edae»A 



RESPECtABlLITT. 



tion, lamentably prevalent throughout the villages and 
«iiiaU towna of New England. 

Amelia, the eldest daughter, grew up tall and well 
ibrmed, pale and romantic She hail attended the 
Tillage Female Academy, from her youth upward. 
At eighteen »he lefl school, tolerably well educated. 
That ia, she was versed in geography, and could tell 
you the capitals of every European slate more readily 
than those of the various states of her own country; 
and knew', (so deeply learned was she,) more about 
the lives of the kings of England and of Egypt, than 
of the presidents of the United States. She could 
paint fruit piecea«nd morning pieces, which still hung 
orer her mantel in testimony of her skill ; write a 
neat hand, cypher tolerably, and play a little on 
the }>iano. Yef, with all these accomi^shments, she 
found herself at the age of twenty-seven, unmarried, 
and, at laatf to escape her mother's tongue, which grew 
sharps as she grew older, and wagged particularly 
against '**bld maids," and to find the wherewithal to 
purchase dresses, for she had inherited her mother's love 
of finery, she accepted an ofier to keep a school, (this 
not being' mechanical, except in cases of flagellation, 
is, therefore, "respectable," and confening no disgrace,) 
in a neighboring village, in which delightful task, 
peradTenture, she is still engaged. 

The second child, who was a son, having a natural 
mathematical turn« and much mechanical ingenuity, 
at the age of seventeen, when his father proposed 
taking him into " the store," plead hard to be allowed 
to become a mechanist, or go to sea — any thing but to 
be tied to the counter of a country grocery. His 
parents were shocked at his vulgar tastes. The young 
man, afler staying behind the counter three months, 
during which rime he was placed at the station at the 
iarther end, where rum was retailed, because his 
careful parent could truat no one else there, and, after 
hearing more oaths and seeing mora intemperance 
than would have corrupted a Samuel, he yielded, dis- 
gusted with his employment, to the oflers of an intel 
ligent sea-captain, and, amid the tears, groans, and 
prophecies of his mother, (for the caste of sea captains 
is not exactly comme it faut,) went to sea with him 
He is DOW, though young, the first ofHcer of a packet 
•Hip from New York, and a gentleman, in spite of his 
fiiiher. 

The third son, a fine, spirited boy, who wished to 
become a jeweller rather than to succeed his seo- 
strnck brother in the store, eventually followed his 
brother's example, by eloping, and after various ad- 
ventures, during which he lost both health and repu- 
tation, became one of the lowest supernumeraries on 
Ale New York stage. The cholera of 1832 pat an 
end to his misery, his dissipation, and pecuniary 
wretchedness, and the Potter's Field has become his 
last restiog-plaoe. The fourth was apprentice to a 
tespectable wholesale dry-goods merchant, in Boston 
When he became of age, and desired to enter into 
bosiness on his own responsibility, his employer, to 
whom he looked for assistance, " failed,'* and he was 
ttonee thrown upon the worUl with but a few hun- 
^ dollarvin his passeasion. He again became a 
^k to aoothar hoiiae, on a scanty salary, for although 



a man of business, integrity and industry, he was not 
a man of aqnttU. He knows no trade — be is fit for 
nothing but a merchant's clerk. He is still clerking, 
although nearly thirty years of age, while he finds 
about him men of wealth and independence, although 
mechanics, like (heir fiither's' before them, whom, 
when at school, he was taught to despise. With what 
bitter curses upon the foolish system to which he wai 
a victim, did he contrast their situation, happy in the 
IxMom of their families, with his own, a lonely salaried 
bachelor. ** How much it costs to be-a gentleman !" 
thought he. 

The fifth, and next youngest child, who was a 
daughter, married a young merchant of her native 
village, who failed the following year, died intempe- 
rate the next ensuing, leaving his wife and two chil- 
dren to the tender mercies of her parents or the world. 

The sixth child, a less intelligent and active boy 
than his brothers, his father succeeded in retaining in 
the store ; this being the portal through which all of 
them made their debut into active life. He soon ac- 
quired the habits and tastes of the loutigers in the 
store ; to their language and beastly intoxication he 
sooYi became familiarized ; and imperceptibly by com- 
mencing with cordials and sherbets, he acquired a taste 
for ardent spirits ; and, at the age of twenty-five, after 
having been for three years a common drunkard, he 
died in his father's house of suinuiHZ-poftt. 

This, reader, is no fiction. Name and localities 
are only requisite to identify these facts in the me- 
mories of many, with the history of a family now 
almost extinct. Yet, even without this key, too ready 
an application of it may be made to numerous families, 
within the observation of every New England reader. 

Besides Edward, there were two brothers and a 
sister, younger than himself, who, fortunately, did not 
survive long enough to become either lady or gentle- 
man f 

Three years aAer the conversation recorded above, 
Edward entered the sophomore class at Cambridge. 
His manners were polished, his address winning, his 
talents of a high order. After six weeks ho was the 
most popular of his class, both with the faculty and 
his class-mates ; while many young gentlemen of the 
upper class sought his acqusintance. His associates 
were among the wealthiest in college; his good nature, 
gentlemanly air, irresistible wit, and high standing 
in his class, rendered his society universally sought 
after. 

The first year, his bills were paid by his father, and 
he was allowed fiAy dollars during the year for spend- 
ing money. This he laid out in books; for he neither 
gambled nor indulged in the expensive habits, which 
could be afi&rded by others. When in the height of 
his popularity and scholastic Ame, a letter came, in 
reply to one he had written to his father fbr a remit- 
tance, to purchase a few neeessaVy books, stating that 
'< business was dull, bis profits small, and thai it was 
more expensive at college than he supposed it would 
be." And af)er two pages of ad vice in relation to the 
necessity of preserving his standing as a gentleman, 
he wound op with the suggestion ** that as he oould 
not afibfd to pay such large bills any longer, he had 



8 



THE GENTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



Imt work the rest of hU way through college by keep- 
Bg school during the vacatioos.*' A bauk note for 
'weuly dttllars waa incloaad, with the intimation that 
" he most expect but little more assistance from him. 
aa he had his two brothers and sisters to educate j that 
lie was getting old, and times were hard." 

It would be difficult to picture the mortification of 
a sensitive, high- minded. young man, at such an an- 
nouncement. The term bills would, in a few days, 
lie presented. Minor accompts, usually liquidated at 
fte same time, were also unpaid. But these difficui- 
iLes, though instantly occurring to his mind, did not 
■o much affect him as the sudden change this conduct 
of his father must produce in his situation. Educated 
like a gentleman, his most intimate associates had 
' lieen with those young ariktocrals of the college, who 
had wealth to support their pretensions. With the 
" heneficiarieB" those noble minded young men, who 
seek science through her most thorny paths, those of 
poverty and contumely, he bad never associated — 
they were a species of literary operatives, whom he 
had not yet decided whether to class with mechanics 
or gentlemen. He grouneil bitteily as he felt that he 
vas degraded to their caste. It was late at night 
when be received the letter, and afier pacing the room 
a long time in mental agitation, he seized his bat and 
hastened to the president's room. The usual lamp 
ahone in the window. He tapped lightly at the door 
and entered. The venerable doctor Kriken, who was 
engaged over his desk, raised his head, and politely 
invited him to be seated. 

Edward laid his father's letter upon the desk, say- 
ing hastily, "A letter from my father, sir.'*' 

The president read it, and shook his head, as if dis- 
pleased at its con ten IB. 

" I sympathize with you, Belden. This is not the 
first case of the kind 1 have met with since my con- 
nection with this institution. This infatuation among 
the class to which your father belongs, of making gen- 
tlemen of their sons, when they cannot allow them 
the means to sustain the rank of such, has been the 
ruin of many promising yOung rhen. It is a rai«Iaken 
ju>tton, and one fruitful with the most baneful conse- 
quences, that a youth, to be made a genilenTan of, 
must become a member of one of the learned profes- 
sions ; and, that to be a member of one of these, he 
must first pass through college. It is a mischievous 
error, and must be eradicated. It is daily^ doing in- 
calculable injury to society. Eiperience must soon 
teach such persons the unsoundness of the position 
they have assumed, and convmce them 4hat an inde- 



pendent farmer or mechanic (which all nay beooma 
who will,) is intrinsically a better gentleman and a 
far more useful member .of society, ihan^n impove- 
rished lawyer or doctor, or a minister who has becqme 
such that he may be one in the ranks of, (to use an 
English term, for which, in America, we neither have 
nor should have a corresponding word.) the **g€7Ury." 

The president concluded by giving him much judi- 
cious advice for his future conduct in life, and the 
young, man took his leave and went forth into the 
world, alone, friendless, ar.d almost moneyless. 

Wo briefly pass over bis short and unhappy carear. 
He went to New York, where be remained severii 
weeks, seeking some genteel employment, (for of any 
mechanical trade or art, he was totally ignorant.) At 
length a sittmtion oflered, after he had spent his laat 
dollar in paying for an advertisement applying for a 
clerkship or tutorship. 

The subsequent events in tho life of Edward Bel- 
den, (save the mystery that still hangs over the place 
of his exile,) are familiar to all who have not forgotten 
the tragedy which a short lime ago agitated our great 
commercial metropolis, and fdled the minds of all men 
with horror. 

This brief outline of what could easily be extended 
to volumes, is written to expose the rottenness of a 
mischieious custom, founded in vanity and perpetuated 
by injustice to its juvenile victims, which reigns all 
over New England. Alas, that men should think 
that because they give their sons an education, they 
must, of necessity, make professional men of them, or 
suppose, if they wish to make them gentlemen with- 
out tho trouble aitd expense of education, that they 
must make merchants of them ! 

Let every parent, whether farmer or country mer- 
chant, country doctor, or country lawyer, or country 
parson, if he liave five sons, educate them all well, if 
be will, but make four of them tillers of the soil or 
masters of a trade. He will then be certain of having 
four independent sons about him. If he have seven 
daughters, let him make seven good milliners and 
mantua makers of them, and they will then be inde- 
pendent of the ordinary vicissitudes of life. Let him 
do this, that is, provided he has no fortunes to leave 
them. But even if he have, still it wonld be better 
for them that he should do this, than if he should leave 
it undone. It is the opposite plan to this, the reach- 
ing after gentility or Tenpectflbil'Uy^ as it is termed, for 
their children, that throngs our metropolitan streets 
with courtezans, and inundates all cities, from New 
i York to New Orleans, with pennylesa adventurers. 



Digitized by 



Google 



THE M A N I AG» 



THE MANIAC 



BT JA.MK8 HKNRT OARLKTON. 



He was an ag«d nian, and mayhap had been ■ojonminK here tome oighiy yean, and hb white locka and boaiy heart 
ttfe him a Tt-nenible aiiiitraninef. * * • ^••«_ ««»«^ :•- .»^.«.. 

-He nt by the way tid*-, and in his hand he held an ancient hisrp, and ercr and anon he swept lit* nnger* aeroas its •vnni^ , 
«Rl to tifcrir wild melody he aaiii; fragments of a wilder sung. With his tyts bent upon vacancy, be sermed holding eonverw 

^Ai tinilfhk k«k was full of beseeching cftrnestnest, and flre, and hope ;-ihen it was meJancholy aiid desponding, and »- 
pKssive of mueJi deep fwlu»g;-awon as the song changird a cahu, patient, holy ivfignatwn seemed to pervade eveo l«^ 

lie woQlu Ihney himself yoane, and under the infloene^of such thonghts, he wo«U eall for tliose he toned when • jma^ 
and bet-ause they answered nut, he would bt'g to bK old again. , ^ - - >--^- 

We dnipped a few pieces of silver into his lap and Itft him, but I ean ncvw Ibrget the impRitiMi made en my M«t Wf «■ 
song of tie maaiae aunsiwL— L«rfer#/r«m the Eatt, 



Oh ! 1 am old, and life to me 

Hat been a flitting, ahadowy dream. 

And I wuuld faia louk back, and aee 
If there be^not some little gleam 

Of aansbino there, that yet n*ay a^m 
To make my heart feel young again— 

Some uaaia, some gushing stream. 

Upon the waate— where ihoughlf may reign 
One moment more with pleaauie than with paiiL 



I would be young — ^I would live o'er 

My yeara, to feel— I am not old . 
I wiah- lo have the thoughts once more. 

That half my days are not yet U>ld. 
Alas ! I have no hope to fold 

Hume to my boaom — for my doom 
b near, and every palse beats cold 

As I look forward through the gloom. 

And see no home — ^no friends — ^naught bat a tomb! 



I woiAd be yomig. What's this l^^ 

The Mood ^arii wildly thro' estefa vein, 

And a new vigor seems to steal 
Through every limb— 

Vu TOVlfQ aoaih! 

I have my wish— hail, childhoodV hoars! 
Hail, halcyon days ! — What yyy does fill 
My boaom ! — How my poises thrill ! — 

Ba, ha ! thie is Kfe's spring and flowers fo- 
llow, I woaM ask— does ever pain 

Or grief dwell in these rose-clad bo wen f 
Mo. BO ! Thank God, Vm yoixng again ! 



IWsnde ef my boyheod! I have < 
f sons loltertng afe te visit ye— 

My iitber! — OMMher &— weleoae heme. 
The child khee eece did*st bve. "TielH^ 
Tk* ahMWl eiM^ that edb an thee. 



Where are they all 7— None come to greet 
Me kindly.^Where's the hearU that beat 
In onisim with mine ! — I see 
None that I ever knew.— 

O, misery! 
Where are the life of joy, that gave 

The echo to my youthful gleet- 
Voice pf the' past ! say. has the grave 

Closed over them 7— Oh ! can it be 
That all that o'er bore Ijve for me. 

And alt I ever loved, are gone t 
Then I am like some withered tree 

Upon a desert^leafless, torn. 
And tempeat-iiven. Answer now— 

If so— let memory bring me here, 
Elach laughing eye — each sonny brow— 

£ach form and feature, hope and fear- 
Bring all — this sorrow to beguile — 
Ail that e'er caused my lips to smile. 

Mine eyes to drop a tear. 

The friends of ny yoiuh— 

O, where are theyf 
Voice of the past! 

Have they gone for aye f 
A murmoring wail tells the sorrowful tale — 
They have {Msa'd away !— they have pam'd awif 

Oh, then, I weuM not travel e'er 

The partief life, if ail are gone s— 
I we^d be near my grave once moM^ 

Rather than live alone. 
Tve seen enoegh ef life, to know 

That all is vanity— 
Tbera'sMthing real-^hut tta waa 
These's neihing certain here b e l a w, 

Bnr this m all stittf iftr ' 



I'mgMtetlameU. 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 



tp 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



CHARLES 



A TALE OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION., 



BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.' 



CHAPTER I. 

Tbi8 tale ifl one of the thouoand, remaining untold, 
of tke 'dark day* of the Revelation. Who that has 
merely perused the most important events of that bra, 
inch as was the province of .the historian, being only 
a iaithful record of the transactions of public magni- 
tude, can conceive the numberless ihrilling incidents 
connected with humble individuals 7 

The former is preserved in the archives of bur 
country : the latter may yet, and should be, revealed, 
by the few remaining survivors of that epoch, ere they 
become dubious traditions, or the improbable crea- 
tions of the imagination. This story, in many parti- 
culaiB, is vouched for by one who lived at the time, 
and hod a knowledge of the things treated of. 

Charles — — — was bom in France, from whence 
bis parents removed to this country, when he was an 
infant. When but a lad, he evinced extraordinary 
manifestations of intellect; and was furnished by his 
indulgent and happy parents with every facility of ac- 
quiring a good education. Unlike most youths of^is 
condition, the only and beloved child of wealthy and 
respectable parentage, instead of being spoiled by 
their caresses, he devoted more than common atten- 
tion to his tutors, seeming to enjoy, with peculiar zest, 
all their instructions. 

Thus delightfully were his days passed, until the 
slight stripling was emerging into manhood, but yet 
retaining the effeminacy, or delicate mould of form 
nnd features, so frequently observable in those born 
and reared in cities. 

But ere long, calamities of direful hue succeeded 
to his days of peaceful sunshine. First, he was bereft 
of his mother by a prevailing epidemic— then came 
the loss of fortune ; which was quickly followed by 
the demise of his father. A particular description of 
these events is not requisite ibr our purpose. The 
cause of many a train of misfortunes is indescribable, 
but sufficient for the scathed is the evil thereof! 
Many fidl from their loily stations amongst men, though 
virtuous and prudent, like the leaves from the green 
oak, that were not more exposed to the fury of the 
storm than their fellows that yet remain. Others rise, 
though less meritorious than their compeers, like/ the 
water-spout in the ocean, and in vain may we conjec- 
ture why one drop should be exalted above another. 

Charles was in utter destitution. He yet remained 
at liis boarding house, (his parents had resided at a 
pleasant villa in the neighborhood of the city,) but 



was deprived of his preceptors, and having no proe- 
pect of obtaining the means of support, he experi- 
enced acute addition to his wretchedness, in the 
c^nge that came over the aspect of his acqoatntancea. 
He had the mortification of being told that he must 
seek other lodgings by his hitherto obmquious host, 
who had oflen expressed for him scarce less than pa- 
rental attachment. Pity is more talked of than enter- 
tained. Many would really take pleasure in amelio- 
rating the condition of the unfortunate, were it not 
that they would bo compelled to open ihoir purses to 
do it. Flinty hearts and wire strings to them, are not 
half BO adamantine as the silken strings and frail in- 
terstices of -a well-filled purse. A commiserating 
tongue will tell that the former is benevolent and 
sympathizing — but the irascible button on the pocket 
declares that the latter acts only for its own benefit 

Charles for weeks strove in vain to procure some em- 
ployment to enable him to live. Disappointed in every 
application, he finally set out alone on foot, determined^ 
as. a last resource, to present himself to a distant rela- 
tion in New Jersey. This relation was named Barton; 
the father of Charles had more than once assisted him 
in his pecuniary arrangements, but this, he thought^ 
had been repaid by ingratitude, and a subsequent 
coolness existed between the families ever afler. This 
caused our hero to hesitate long before he yielded lo 
th9 necessity of applying to his only surviving kin- 
dred. 

Mr. Barton was a farmer, industrious and grasping, 
without much regard for the good will of men, and 
was fast getting rich. He concealed his political sen- 
timents, or rather was thought to embrace either side 
alternately, as his immediate interest dictated. With 
this reputation, he partook but Ifttle of social inter- 
course with his neighbors, and when business called 
him not forth, he shut himself impenetrably up with 
his family. He, too, had but oiie child — a daughter. 
Mary was a pale, quiet, dark-eyed girl, whose lips 
rarely sported a siffile, yet she was considered hand- 
some. Her thoughtful brow and grave deportmenf 
excited the interest of those that might, by chance^ 
behold her, and some pitied her lonely condition, (her 
mother having dipti in giving her birth,) and regretted 
that one apparently so well calculated to adorn socie- 
ty, should be immured in unbroken seclusion, with 
such a callous and rigid companion, though that being 
was her father. Yet if any imagined she was debar- 
red of all the pleasures of life, and pined in solitude 
for enjoyments, from which she was ezduded by an~ 



CHARLES. 



11 



unfeeliDg psrant, they were much mutaken. Not 
hsTiiif ieen, much leu tailed, the diitipationi and gay 
frirolities of faahionalbe society, she was conteot to 
enpby her leisure hours in reading, or bending over 
her guitar. She had her books, her flowers, her 
munc, and her birds. Her meditative look was the 
necesHiry product of solitude, and iCshe did not\>ften 
betray the buoyant joyousness of the hoyden, still she 
was exempt from woman's greatest curse— disappoint- 
ment, or treachery in love. 8he had never eipe- 
rienced the malice of a rival, nor envied the more 
ftsdnatiDg charms of another. She -had never loved, 
but had attained the age and power to love. At this 
juncture, lemales more resemble angels than at any 
subsequent period of their existence. So, at least, the 
ibrlonaCe swain imagines, who enjoys her first and 
only aflfection in all its force. 

When Charles presented himself, Mr. Barton greet- 
ed him merely with civility. He was received into 
the family, but without the ceremony of a hearty 
welcome, and was informed that he might consider 
himself in posseasion of a home, but that it was ex- 
pected he should contribute for hii maintenance, such 
labor as might be required of him. To this he readily 
assented, and was pleased to observe a slight smile, 
but one of kindness and encouragement, on the face 
of Mary, who had scrutinized him in silence, from the 
time he entered the apartment, without once having 
averted her dark, beaming eyes. 



CHAPTER II. 



CoAkiMB was standing in a small enclosure, com- 
posed of heavy rails and trunks of small trees, which had 
been hastily arranged by Mr. Barton. This contracted 
penfold was in the most remote spot that could be se- 
lected- in thfl forest. Trees stood so thick around and 
within it, that one might fail to discover the score of 
$tted beeves there secreted, even at a short distance. 
And there stood our hero, like a smuggler watching 
over his booty. Sad and painful were the thoughts of 
Charies, as he paced to and fro with his gun on bis 
shoulder. 

" TV) be thus required to watch over a few beattB," 
he mutter^, " and guard them against my country- 
men, too, to supply, perhaps, in the end, an invading 
foe! Ignoble and pusillanimous calling! No obli- 
'gations — ^no circumstances can justify, it, and from this 
instant, henceforth, I spurn the vile employment!" 
He turned from the hidden treasure of hJs master, and 
slowly paced along the pa>h that wound its serpentine 
way thtoagh thicket and dell to the extensive planta- 
tion of Mr. Barton. He felt as one that leaps from 
the deck in a dark night, when the ship is captured 
by pirates,^determined to take his chance in the sea, 
with the desperate hope that an amisting hand may 
nve him, or that the land may not be far*distant. 
What could be do without friends or money, — too 
young and frail to gratify the impulse of his heart, by 
joining his country's forces against the enemy ? 

It vvas a November morning, and aldnrngh a slight 



snow rested on the earth, yet the sun rose in brilliance, 
and a mild calmness' succeeded the keen blast that 
had been howling through the tossing boughs of the 
treel. With scarce a cheering hope, he strode on- 
ward, conjuring up vision after vision in quest of coa^ 
eolation. Now the birds fluttered upward, abandon- 
ing the chill shade, and, on the joyous wing, sang 
once more a happy trill in the bright sunshine. The 
glittering light around at length enlivened the youth 
in some measure, and he quickened his pace, with a 
resoliltion to meet Mr. Barton without delay, and pro- 
test against bis disreputable practices. ^ 

*' Halt!'* cried some one from the wayside, and the 
next moment the bending form and the long, gray 
locks of an extreme old man were visible. He came 
forth, with an old pistol in his belt, and walking up 
to Charles, placed his palsied band on the youth's 
shoulder, and long remained silent, intently regarding 
the young _man*s fine feattires. 

" Why, my dear Mr. Brown, have you abandoned 
the pulpit for the field ? But what can you do t Your 
hand shakes so, that ten to one you' would miss your 
man at five paces distant. If you do not cease these 
eccentricities. I must believe the report prevalent 
throughout the co'antry, that you are in your dotage— 
notwithstanding I have hitherto loved you so much, 
and vindicated your opinions." 

" Charles !** said the aged minister in a tremulous 
voice; he was bereft ofTarther articulation for some 
time by the harrowing emotion that succeeded, and 
bitter tean ran down his blanched cheeks. ** Charles," 
he continued, " it is true I am a professed minister of 
the gospel. I would suppress vice by every means 
in my power. Every species of injustice is contrary 
tQ the will of our father in heaven, and as his hum- 
ble servant, I would combat wrong in every guise. 
Think you not that some men whom you see, or hear 
of, are in error T' 

" Certainly ! I believe the British are wrong."^ 
♦• True ! you anticipate my intent — ^I will oppose 
the British." 
" Washington recommends all divines — " 
*' I know that, Charles. But the time has come 
when acts sre more needed than words." 

" But you cannot act, Mr Brown. You are too 
old, and I too young. Would to heaven it were not 
so!" 

•• It is not so, Charles. Listen to me. I had a son, 
(alas had !) not much older than yourself, who was at 
Brooklin, and lingered longest on the disastrous field. 
At Kipp's Bay, he threw himself in front of his gene- 
ral, and vowed to niie with him. For this he was 
promised promotion. At While Plains he fought 
bravely to the last, and was left on the field with the 
wounded. His knee was but slightly shattered, yet 
disabled him from retiring. When the enemy came 
op, he stated his condition, and requested the assist- 
ance of a surgeon, yielding himself a prisoner of war- 
He was refused the aid he solicited, and when faint- 
ing with thiret and loss of blood, he begged merely a 
little water, a soldier came forward with many exe- 
crations, land thrust him through the hi«rt yriih his 



bayonet ! 



Digitized byVjOOQlC 



13 



THE GENTLBMAK'B MAGAZINE. 



** The mufderer! By heaven, I — " 

** Charles, we will revenge him. After bidding 
adieu to Mr. Barton, and Mary, whom you love, and 
who ia lovely, come to my house. Leave your gun 
behind. Adieu, for the present, but meet me aa I 
have said." The old man, with uncommon agility, 
aprang aside, and was soon lost to view. 

Charles proceeded on in wonderment, unable to 
comprehend the inieniions of the old man, but re- 
solved to comply wiih his injunctions. He took leave 
of Mr. Barton in the man.ier contemplated, and in- 
atead of reproaches and opposition, the latter only 
atared at him in astonishment, withont uttering a 
word. He was forced to depart without seeing Mary, 
who could not be found. He laid aside his gun as 
directed, and strode briskly along the path leading 
through the orchard. As he was mounting the tall 
fence at the farthest extremity of the ezclosure, he 
espied Mary emerging from a thick hedge in advance, 
«im1 turn to meet him. 

"Farewell, Charles," said she, taking his hand. 
* Mr. Brown was with us this morning, and said Ibis 
hing would come to pass. He told father to do no- 
thing to oppose it, at his peril, and said to me that 1 
must meet you here — but for what purpose, I know 
not." ' 

** Mary," said Charles, faltering, " I am unworthy — 
but—" 

" What do yo mean. Chariest" 

** I am unworthy — " 

** You are no such, thing, Charles." 

*Jl mean I am unworthy, but that—" 

*• But that unworthy !" 

** I love yon, Mary." A silence of some moments 
ensued, during which the maiden's face was slightly 
reddened, but quick resumed its wonted paleness, and 
her dark lustrous eyes rested on the yout|i, whose (ace 
was bent down in fear and uncertainty. 

•* I believe you do, Charlee— but why do you trem- 
ble ao?" 

** Because I cannot hope — " 

** I am sure you can, though. I love yoo, toe ! — 
Vpte my word ! Now, you almost make me tremble. 
There — let me go — ^that's enough, in all conscience. 
Now, why are you leaving me V* 

** I know not, Mary ; Mr. Brown haa not told me." 

" I always do every thing that good man requires — 
be will never lead you wrong, Charles. But what 
will become of me when you are away f Father 
aeye the rapacious soldiers are coming." 

« Is it poaaiblef Which, the English or the Ame- 
ikansf" 

*^The latter— but father detests both sides." 

"* I know it — but our army will never do him any 
ii||ury. I must now leave you. Good bye f 

<* When will you come back ?'' 

« I know not— but may heaven protect you tfll 
then."' 

** And you, too, Charlea !" 



CHAPTER III. 

LiKi a drooping parent, despoiled of a portion M 
his beloved offipring. still endeavoring to escape the 
pursuit of the relentless wild beast, and at the same 
time in quest of an opportunity to cripple or deatrof 
it, — the only man that could rely in confidence on the 
retributive justice of Divine Providence, in the midst 
of a succession of ruinous calamities, Wtuhiwgim^ 
retreated through New Jersey, followed by a da» 
ponding though faithful bend of only three thoosaod 
men. 

The small army of pairio<s was encamped in an 
open field, where the inclemency of the weather w^ 
sailed them, in the absence of the sangume foe. Bat 
in the attacks of both, Washington was with them. 
Night closed in, and a hundred fires, which barelf 
sufficed to protect the sufllering soldiers from the i 
acute rigors of the season, speckled the heath, 
in the night, the watchful sentry hailed two i 
and the old minister was conducted, at hia own te< 
quest, to the lent of the commander-tn- chief. 

Charles, who hod been detained in custody, soon 
observed a small detachment of soldiers approach and 
pass in the direction of the secreted beeves in the fo» 
rest. He heard some remarks which convinced him 
I hat the old minister had sent them thither, and he 
was content. 

After a short time had elapsed, Mr. Brown relieved 
him of his loricsome condition, and stated thai he had 
discovered to the general (who was in great need oT 
provisions, and would see them paid for,) the beeves 
of Mr. Barton. And that he had also suggested the 
propriety of securing the ferry boats ftr up the river 
to provide against the advance of the enemy on Phi- 
ladelphia', and, at the same time, to ftcilimte the v»> 
treat of the Americans.* 

Unable to oppose the approaching torrent, Waih- 
ington yielded to. the neceasity of croasing the Dahi^ 
ware. Mr. Brown and Charles were now in the 
American camp. Neither were required to do ear* 
vice, but the former was regarded with raveienoe 
by all, and particularly noticed by the commander, 
with whom ho had frequent interviews. Charles had 
the satisfaction of seeing and speaking to the greatest 
man of his country, and his aeal was redoubled m 
perform some act worthy commendation. Many e 
veteran smiled at his ardent protestations of atmoh> 
ment to the cause of liberty, and although his arm 
seemed too delicate to do any prodigies, yet his cheer* 
ful locrfcs, as he spoke of victories to be achieved» 
were inspiring. 

'* Why did you insist on my not carrying a goa, 
Mr. Brown, whilst at the same time you retain your 
pistol? 1 feel quite able to do something for the 
country ; one who has labored with the plough -ia 
surely competent to handle a gun. I will proouie • 
carbine immediately, and ftll in the ranks !" 

" Be not rash, my aoo, but still be governed bf 

* This had been medftated by the sagacions gene- 
mi pievioualy, end was jnuaediately put in eaeoutiea. 



OH A KI.B0. 



19 



wuf adviccL Tbe vielury is not lo the strong. Yoa 
■ImII aiMedily h«v« « elMiiea of lettifyiDg your allMb- 
■leni Sm your adopted eouniry. You shall do more 
without a guo than you eould wUh it. You are inti- 
■aiely acquainted Viih all the passee in the vicinity 
of Trenton. The enemy now poesess that place, and 
employ iheinselvea iji devastating ihe country around. 
To night our general intends crusiting the river, and 
needs our services as guides." 

'*.Thank God ! Then 1 can do somelhipg at last 
Bat why not carry a gun V* 

** Because you embark in a perilous undertaking, 
and if taken with arms, might aufller. As you are, 
you may escape injury. Fur my pari, I take the pis- 
tol, to be reganied as a deranged man, if taken. See, 
there is no lock on it.'* 

The American army, now considerably reinforced, 
though sffifiering almosi infulecable privations for want 
of raiment, yet looked io God for the triumph of jiin- 
iice, under the guidance of their revered leader, and 
neglected .no means of manifesting their desire of re* 
trieving the numerous misfortunes that had befsllen 
the .cause during the preceding campaign. It was 
Christmas, and msny a merry peal burst furth when 
the soldiers were informed of ibie contemplated expe- 
dition. That day the aged roinialer prayed mure fer- 
venily than ever before. His impressive manner dif> 
fused a solemnity throughout the assembly, and renew- 
ed ardor and firmer determination were inspired in the 
hearts of all. The prepsratiuns were made, and many a 
•mile and jest were exchanged on the 'coming (rohc" 
Adopting every prudential mea«ure, the resolute liand 
crossed the broad Delaware in silence, aitd under co- 
ver of the night, pruceeded on iheir way in quest- of 
the enemy. Occasionally a hooting owl started from 
bid bough, and flapped acruiM the path of the benumb- 
ed gMides; but no superstition could intimidate ihoiu. 
Tiie old man and Charles ooniribu'ed much towards 
coaducting the arny to ihe place of destiimtion. The 
glorious achievement that ensued is known to alL 
Charlea, who had displayed much gallantry in the at- 
tack* having seised a guo, and placed himself amongst 
the van, was now in transports ; and the minister said 
his prayers were anawered. 

** Now, my aoo,** said Mr. Brown to Charles, ** my 
iiail body admonishes me to retire to my pescefui 
beme. iAy revenge, which thirsted not for the de- 
struction of human life, so much as the brightening 
of (be great cause, is appeased somewhat. 1 adopt 
you. Charles, io the place of my deceased son, and 
leave you lo fill the station for which he was destined. 
Go on to victory ! and when an koemy fal s in your 
Pifwer. remember the fate of my pn9r wounded boy. 
and let his pitiable' cond it ior. leach thee mercy! Spare 
As fiitlen man*s life. And thou wilt do it— I know 
IbfMi wilt, for I have often marked the pure, though 
anleoi emotions of thy heart You are, I know, em- 
kiiioQa,and I rejoice ioit, so long as you are virtuou». 
If you aspire to great things, you may aeco.npli^h 
^m easily by p«irsuiog the right courae. Let your 
osndact be aoiform, and tend to the one object. Or- 
phan as you Are, remember that the ant is not deter- 
red fnira the poiat of its destioaiioa by obrtaclM* how- 
A 3 



Bver great, but, by diligenoe, aurroounts theik Ba 
vigilant aad aleady, and you may be a great OMik I 
have procured you an appropriate pool in the unfegr* 
and must now .bid you adieu. I set out in an hoitt 
from this time, in company with a few spies that !»• 
main in this state, for my home. Your general wiU 
recross the river to day. Now if you have any oMh 
••age or lokeu for Mary, intrust it to roe." 

" My foiher— for well I know thou wilt be a father 
to me, and besides whom I have no friend, aaws 
Mai7 — I will aot in every thing according lo Iby 
tlireciion. ^t I crave to be permitted to ride out to 
Mr. Barton's and toke Ifeave, in person, of Mary, I 
have a horse provided, and promise to return in ao 
hour." This was grsnted, and Charles wailed net 
f>r his aged friends' de|iarlure, though their iout« 
would be the same; but calculated to meet him, and 
bid htm farewell somewhere on the road as be r#> 
turned to Trenton. 

It was a noble bay steed that wafted Cbarlaf^ 
through moor and woodland, scarcely less swift thaa 
the flight of the pigeon; and thrilling thoughts aa 
rapidly exercised the youth's imagination. Deeds of 
glory were pictured in all his reveries, and io the 
track ground or side view the approving smile of iaii 
Mary^:beered biro on. 

The tall, gray chimneys emerge in view aa h» 
sweeps round the angle of an alder thicket, and now 
the tramp of his fleet charger is sounding in the 
avenue of fruit trees, leading directly to the house. 
Without pausing lo uniltsien the gate, his noble haf, 
at a slight pressure of the bit, vaulted over the aUnm 
fence, and stood in the yard. Charles dismounted 
and entered the house, but found Mr. Barton's room 
empty. He then ran to Mary's chamber, and hia raf 
VI as answered by the aflTrighted girl incoherently. Uf 
pushed the dour open and entered. 

** Charles! Charles!" screamed the relieved girl, 
and running to him, threw herself in hia arma. **Oh* 
Charles, I am so happy to see you!" she conlinuedt 
s9jiling, though team had evidently been flowing be> 
fore the youth's arrival. ** Bui," said she, " I fear ior 
ray poor father. Not two hours since, eight or ni'nn 
Hessians came here in search of provisions, and i» 
sisted on my father's yielding jhem op the beeves b« 
had secreted. In vain he told them they bad escaped 
or been stolen— no protestations could appease theov 
and ihey dragged him hence, threatening death, if h^ 
led not the way directly to the rattle." 

Excepting the somewhat painful apprehensions re- 
spectiitg the file of Mr. Burton, the lovers enjo}'ed 
^^pily the time allotted for the meeting. Charles 
i>roroised to procure, if ponible, a small party of 
American soldiers to come to the rescue, v When the 
moment of parting came, and just as the last lingering 
farewell was sadly accomplished, the report of a pjatol 
euariled them, which was succeeded by several oiheni 
n quick succession. *' Charles! they are killing my 
father! Here!" exclaimed Mary, running to a side 
press, from which she quickly produced two muskelS 
and a supfJy of cartridgea. Charlea seised one of 
ihem, and was in the act of '*>*lyV j^'^'f^ ^ 
alaoat ihurtiegirL held hi» mkpy ^jOOg LC 



14 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



** See, Charles, see! He comes— he comes!" she 
exckimedj beholding from the window her parent 
rooonted on a fleet horse, that spumed the earth with 
the celerity of an antelope, hard parsved by the hos- 
tile party, A small hollow in the lane obscured the 
pursued a moment firom Tiew ; and when a cluster of 
the enemy dashed down the descent behind, Charles 
iired, and one of the number fell from his horse. 

" Here !" cried Mary, handing her companion the 
other piece, with sudden and strange composure, 
having witnessed the execution of his fatal aim. 

Again they were all in view, and ere long Mr. 
Barton, some seventy paces in advance, attained the 
yard. He sprang from his horse, and ran briskly to 
the door; but even on the ihreshhold, when one 
moment more would have insured at least temporary 
safety, a shot from the foremost of the enemy passed 
through his body, and he expired on the steps. But 
the one that did this was in eternity ere the smoke of 
his instol permitted him to view his handiwork, by a 
discharge from the window above. The party paused 
at the stone fence, behind which they screened them- 
selves, fearing to leap over. 

"Oh, Charles, why don't father come up?— 1 saw 

him reach the door in safety. Why don't he come 7 

/Father!" she added, calling aloud, but no response 

came. Charles, from his position, could see the dead 

body of her father, but told her not. 

"Hopkins, there is no one up there but his ghost of 
tt^daoghter. Let us rush in and secure her." 

"No, sargeant, she's not a ghost, but a female 
devil ! She's peppered two already, for our one." 

** Shall we be repuhied by a woman ? No ! Come 
on, be she witch or devil." Saying, this, the sergeant 
leapt on the fence, but instantly fell inside, pierced 
through the heart by another shot from Charles. The 
other gun, ready loaded, was handed to our hero by 
Mary, whose silence and pale, compressed lip, indi- 
cated a foreboding that her father was indeed lost. 
£re he could discharge this, he was espied by the 
party without, who again fell back behind the wall, 
at the same time discharging a volley at the window. 

" I am not wounded. Charles !" said Mary, whose 
long, flowing hair fell down in confusion on her 
shoulders, the comb by which it had been confined, 
being carried away by a bullet. Again the besieging 
Iparty sprang forward, simultaneously discharging their 
pistols at^he now shattered window, and rushed into 
the building, leaving midway in the yard a fourth 
companion dead, and one wounded, by the desperate 
oolness and fatal fire of Charles. 

** Stand in that comer, Mary !" cried our hero, 
barring the door, and leaping to one side. The mo- 
ment after he did this, three balls passed through ihe 
pine door and entered the opposite wall. Charles re- 
served his fire, well knowing the frail barrier might 
easily be forced, and resolved to sell his Nfe as dearly 
as ponibie. They summoned him to surrender ; but 
in a firm tone he peremptorily refused, defying them 
to do their wont, well ttwnre that he had shed too 
much blood to expect merry at their hands. Mary 
•poke not, nor shed a woman's tear, nor was her in- 
> paleness accompanied with a particle of tropl- 



daflon ; but she stood upright with a bright miiakeC 
firmly grasped in her delicate hands, only awaiting 
the next discharge of Charles to supply him immedl* ' 
ately with the means of farther defence. 

*' Yield !" shouted those without, ** or take the con- 
sequences I" 

"Never!" was the reply. 

This was soon followed by the crackling of burn- 
ing faggots below, and in a short time particles of 
smoke ascended through several crevices of the floor. 

" They are firing the house, Charles !" said Mar7, 
in low, su'bdued tones. 

" Villains ! would you destroy a helpless female V* 

This exclamation of Charles was answered by 
another shot through the door, which wounded him in 
the arm. The besieged were now apparently without 
a single hope of escape. The exasperated rufliaDa 
shouted aloud their determination to show no merc^. 
In consequence of the sufiRxsating fumes rising from 
below, Charles and Mary were compelled to ^ove to 
the window to inhale the purer air, and there awaited 
their fate. 

" Go down and kindle it again," remarked one of 
those without, who was guarding the chamber doer, 
on being informed by his companions that the fire 
was going out, and who insisted on forcing their en- 
trance into the' room, and ending the aflbir at onoei. 
The smoke sobsitled in some degree, but again the 
unfortunate cnpives could distinctly hear them blow- 
ing the coaU Lelow. 

" Hosza !" shouted the beleaguers exuhingly, and 
the next instant Charles beheld another party vof red 
coats coming at full gallop up the lane. Motionleaa 
and in silence the lovers gazed on the approachhig 
hostile party. As they drew near, a sudden gleam 
of joy spread over the features i>f our heio. 

" Thank Almighty God ! Mary, we are saved— 
saved !" he exclaimed, recognizing the American vpiet 
in British costume, and the long, snowy locks of the 
minister standing out as he came in fearful speed. 
The Hessians ran down to the door of the hall, and 
welcomed the supposed reinforcement with another 
shoot. Throwing himself in advance, on perceiving 
the smoke issuing from the lower windows, and the 
anxious forms of tde youthful couple above, the old 
man stretched both arms aloft, and cried, " We are in 
lime ! We are in time ! To the rescue, my brave 
men ! Glory to God on high !" To extinguish the 
flames and secure the now appalled and unresisting 
enemy, was but the work of a few moments. The 
old man rushed up stairs— Ihe door'\vas unbarred by 
Mary, who, with her disabled companion, ran into the 
embrace of their deliverer. The old man clasped 
them ardently, muttering thanks to divine Providence. 
Then, and not till then, did Mary yield to woman's 
feelings. The overwhelming reaction of her long 
pent-up emotions burst forth in one loud scream — •" My 
poor father!" and sinking down, she long remained 
inanimate. When in some degree recovered, she 
was permitted to weep without restraint over the 
body of her father ; yet she submissively heeded the 
condoling accents ofj-^th^^ol^^man, who promised to 
fill that parent's place. '^ '^^ ^ 



WHEN I WISH TO DIE. 



15 



"My God! all thy ways are perfect!" laid Mr. 
Brown, bending over one of the dead bodies in the 
yard, and recognizing the sword and belt of his mu^ 
dered son ! 

The prisoners were conducted to Trenton, where 
they were astonished to find the ^American afiny as* 
sembled, and a thousand of their companions prisoners. 
Mary and Charles were removed to the residence of 
Mr. Brown, which was in the immediate vicinity. 
That day Washington sgain retired to the Pennsylva- 
nia side of the. river, but shortly returned to Trenton, 
which, for a limited time, was made his head-quarters. 
Many officers attended the funeral of Mr. Barton, tes- 
tifying their sympathy for Mary, and, at the same 
time, bestowing deserved praise on Ihr heroism of 
Charles. 

On his recovery, Charles hastened to the camp, and 
was speedily in possession of a commission. In most 
of the perilous transactions that ensued, he took a 
dutiful, and not unfrequently a distinguished part, up 
to the capture of lord Qpmwallis. 



At\(A- the cenation of hostilities, he still continued 
at his post, now a colonel in the regular service. Uo 
was at Frances' tavern, in New York, when his vene- 
rated commander took his memorable farewell of his | 
beloved comrades. He too, ip silence,~ pressed the j 
hand of Washington. 

Now, with bright prospects and blissful anticipft- i 
tions, Charles was returning to claim his bride. He | 
paced along on the same^ noble bay charger that for- 
merly conveyed him to that dread scene of desolation. 
He lingered a few moments at the now uninhabited 
dwelling of Mr. Barton Much of the injury done by 
the besieging Hessians, had been repaired for the re- 
ception of himself and Mary ; yet he could easily 
trace many marks of bullets yet remaining on the 
wolls. He turned away, mounted his faithful steed* 
and striking into a hiiaik pace, quickly halted at (he 
gate of the good old minister. Ho was met in the 
yard by MlTry, who ran out, and throwing herself 
in his arms, could only utter " Charles! Charles f*' 
Phila. J. I. 



WHEN I WISH TO DIE. 



WRITTEN IN ILLNESS. 



Not when all earth is sleeping, 

Wrapt in the arms of night, 
And friends are vigils keeping. 

To watch my spirit's flight ; 
Not when the tempest's raging ; 

Not when the winds are high, 
And warrior storms engaging, 

Spread darkness o'er the sky ; 
Not in the field of battle, 

Amid the cannon's roar, 
When death-shots round me rattle, 

Stained with ray fellow's gore ; 
Not in the boundless ocean, 

When all around is dark. 
And when its great commotion 

Tosses the fragile bark ; 
Not where some classic ibuntain 

Rolls its pure stream along ; 
Not on the vine-clad mountain, 

Nor in the land of song. 

Wish I to die ! 



But in the silent even. 

When noture's in repose, 
And when the distant heaven 

Its brightest colors shows ; ^ 
When the warm sun is setting 

Behind the western skies. 
Upon the azure letting 

His golden, gorgeous dyes ; 
When the light zephyrs straying. 

Shall kiss my feverish cheek, 
And round my temples playing. 

In gentle whispers speak ; 
When softest prayer is hushing ^ 

The voice of grief, then low. 
And one dear being's brushing 

The death-damps from my brow ; 
When on my ear is falling 

Music that calms the breast. 
And angel bands are calling 

My spirit to its rest, ^ 

Digitil wish todieOglC 



6 



THE CMBNTLBWAIV'S VA^ACINB. 



1 

A GENTLEMAN'S REMORSE 



ZTRACTSD FftOK THI MJLNUSCRIPT DIARY OV AN KNGLWH CSNTUMAM TaAYBiAINa Uff ITALr, 

TKAR 16—. 



Tnis day» being the feaflt of St. Johfi, I pat on niy 
ellow vest and doublet, richly laced with gold, ^iih 
utlons of topaz, end my black velvet cloak lined with 
'elluw, silk, with a clasp curiously wrought in jet, 
viih a topaz in the midst, and diamond at the ends, 
vith a bUt-k cap and feather, turned up with yellow, 
jid a diamond clasp. On my legs 1 wore silken hose, 
vith booid of Hne undressed leather. I did place ib^ 
word wiih a rich diamond hill, the which was given 
ne by the Duke of Venice, in a black velvet scabbard 
hat I had to match the cloak. Having ruffled out 
ny fine feathers in this guise, I went forth to see the 
ihow, and to pay my respects to the (fuke. Under- 
(fanding how there was to be a review in the place 
)f St. Mary the Greater. I went thither on foot, being 
oined by signor Federigo, signor Checco,* signor 
>lufic,t and other brave young gentlemen. Being 
Mime to the great sqiiare^ the Grand Duke raw me, 
irid moiiiined me to come to him, which presently 1 
Jid. Having made ray bow, I placed myself behind 
o see the show. Presently there was a great shout- 
ing at the corner on the left hand of the church, 
which was to greet the coming of signor Pietro Buo- 
3Aroti, a most noble gentleman to look at, and of roag- 
lificent living. After these were other shoutings — 
Quw for this gentleman — now for that, at whose 
coming our circle somewhat increased iteelf, albeti 
the duke always kept me near him, being pleased to 
do me honor. Presently, in the opposite corner, was 
a groat noise and shouting, the which died not off 
again, but it kept up, even till the crowd opening, 
there issued from amongst them three men on ho'rse- 
back. The first, who might seem the master, was on 
a white hurse, small and stout, like a Flemish breed 
He was dressed somewhat plain, wearing blue clothes 
with white trimmings, but very plain. He seemed 
about ddy, or indeed more, for his hair and beard 
were quite white, and the top of his head was bald ; 
for he carried his hat on the fist of his right hand, like 
a hawk, for coolness. His face was smooth and ruddy, 
and he smiled like any child ; and truly, when he 
drew nigh, meihought I had no where, nor at any 
time, seen a more lovely countenance. His eyes were 
Bolt and bright, like a young girl's, albeit they had a 
few wrinkles at the cortier. Ever, as he rode, he 
kept bowing his head to the people, who, on t(ieir pari, 
shout so luMiiLy ond variously, that all was a Bubel 
like coi'fusion, and none might distinguish what he 
•aid. Soon as the Grand Duke saw him, he walked 



* The Rnslinh mode of writing at the tiuie — ixiT 
Cecco. the familiar lor.n of FranceKo. 

t Who signor Olatfe may be. or what the true or- 
thography of his name, we cannot divine. 



towards him suddenly, bis face brightening ap, M 
though he had seen the pleasanteat sight in the worUI. 
When the elder geutleimin saw the duke making that 
way, he alighted from his horse and walked up to bii 
highness, and would have knelt; but the duke pra* 
venting him, embraced him very lovingly, crying— 
" Signor Alberto, not often are we gifted with your 
good company; and now you come, 1 know it, on some 
bu<»i«)ess — some business of bounty." The old geniU- 
man, smiling afresh, and bowing very graciously, 
said — '* With your highness's permission, I have come 
lo kiss your hands, and learn your health, if not to see 
the show." ** Truly, signor mio," said the duke, **few 
heads so old as yours would have leisure or content 
enough to teke pleasure in these levities; but you 
have kept a young heart, preserving it in the sweet- 
ness of your dispositions.*' Whereat the old gentle- 
man bowed and laughed, like one who would not 
bandy words, knowing they would but run in the 
same course; and so the Grand Duke walked back to 
his station, keeping the old gentleman very close by 
him," like a brother, or a very dear friend. 

And now I had more leisure to observe the two 
men that were with him. One of them was a brave 
looking young man, very decent in his comportmentf 
like the lackey of a gentleman of respect. But the 
other was very notable among servants. He wore a 
serving man's dress, and had taken the rein of the old 
gentleman's horse, snatching it, as I thought, with a 
a rude kind of greediness. He was a very noble 
looking man, that might have graced any title or sta- 
tion. His stature was tall and comely, but meagre 
withal ; his hair a grizzled black ; his face very pale, 
anxious, and melancholic, and his eye large, blacky 
dark skinned, and deeply set under his brow; hia 
action was majestical as any prince, and he rode •• 
if he were born to commund rather than to serve: 
whilst I was observing him, the duke beckoned a 
gentlemon and whispering him, sent him to this lackey 
of signor Alberto, as the ojd gentleman was called. I 
saw the gentlemon go op to him ; but certainly I 
thought that ray eyes were distraught, when they 
made me see that the gentleman, pulling ofl^ his bat 
with respective gravity, bowed very low, and said 
something to the tall -lackey; at which he turned lo 
his fellow, and seemed very humbly to ask him to , 
take the beasts in charge; for presently dismounting, 
he accompanied the gentleman to the dulce. Whea 
he had knelt, and kissed his highness *s hand, the duke 
raised him up, and embraced, and then spake with 
him in a very courteous guise ; but I was npt near 
enough to hear the matter of their discourse. Whea 
the duke had done, he stepped behind, and several 



A OBI^TTLBMAN^S RE^KOBEnt. 



17 



./- 



biiii,waM With an eutbraca, MMae 
with • grappling of hand, and mmim only bowing very 
temMy, and be all the while making aaiiable re 
tana, like a great lord. All these admirable aightv 
did perfectly amaae'ine, naking my eyea seem ready 
to craek for straining to atare at them, ao unmannerly 
waa I Bsade by the aatoninhnienu New, preaenily. 
the review began, and it waa mighty line. * • * 
When it waa over, I heard one aay that the duke 
waa going to atgnor Albeno'a, at which many smiled 
And one gentleman enid that Alberto never came into 
the city without returning heavily and richly laden — 
namely, with ihe Grand Duke. But a few looked 
very aoUcn; it might be because they would be disap- 
pointed of the gala in the evening; for I found ihsi 
the duke went attended very slightly. Whilst they 
were talking of these things, which 1 only hslf under 
alood, because of Iheis newness, the Grand Duke msHe 
m sign to me, and i drew nigh. *' Signor Le^sile."* 
Olid he, (for so lie qaUa me. not being ready at my 
Dame.) i muU take yoa with me. with signor Alberto'b 
good Jeave.** 

Signor Alberto toqk me by the hand, and said that he 
should be proud to take me home niih him. If I could 
pardon hia rode entertainment. And ao we set forth 
Kow I found that only, two gentlemen went besides 
the Grand Duke and me. The tall lackey held sfgiior 
Alberto's stirrup. and rode behind him with his fellow 
•a before. Signor Alberto's house lay a mile or so 
iviihout (he walls, up a pleasant hill, in a vincyartT 
As we passed in at the gate, one of the gentlemen who 
accompanied oa, whom I knew very well, said to me, 
" You should know, sir, that as soon uf ever the duke 
paaaea these gates, be will not be called by hia tiilr 
may mate, nor be treated in any respect difierently 
fiom other gentlemen. lie aaya, with a most pleasant 
and true conceit, th^i ««m« jg th« Land of Goudness, 
where signor Alberto is sovereign ; w«»,-*--.afciai4e8s. 
veracity, that himself is not of very high rank therein. 
« What then, air, does it please his highness to be 
atyled ?" ** Signor Lorenao, nothing more ; and it 
diapleasea him to be treated with ceremony." 

We apent long time in the gardens most pleasantly. 
being served with sherbet and fruits, and ices, and 
gMedtly devouring the discourses of signor Alberto 
and the Grand Doke, and admiring that the Grand 
Poke waa always called plain Master Lnurencp. and 
did daaeourae most pleaaantly, and meifaoHght he never 
teemed so merry. 

Pf«sently we were called in to a goodly entertain 
nent wliich had been prepared for us. Signor Al- 
berto took his place at the head of the table, with the 
Grand Doke on his right hand, and me on his left. 
The tall lackey, not forgetting his duties, which he 
filled ao strangely, placed himself, not behind the 
Grand Duke, but behind signor Alberto; and h# served 
him during the dinner so eagerly, that it seemed to me. 
now he waa an officious servitor, now a most dutiful 
and tender son. The Grand Duke sometimes spake 
with him pleaaantly. and he answered easily, like one 
bred to a high aiatioo, showing a ready wit 



but 



♦ Mr. John Leslie, the writer of the Diary. 



withal respectfully , and like ana wka waa 
melancholy. 

Truly, the time we apent with aigner Alberto wan 
most pleaaant, and he invited me. wiih great show «C 
kindnesB, to come often to his house. We look leava 
so late as niae o'clock of the night, returning to 
town by dark. A son of signor Alberto's attended the 
Grand Duke to town, and servants with torcfaea 
Passing outside the gales, the Grand Duke again ba> 
came his highness, which waa a most strange power 
of the gates. ^ 

It chanced that one of signor Alberto's sons did alao 
ride with us. to do me honor, a sudden friendship 
having chanced between us; he being mighty curiooa 
about our country, and our ^hipa, and the like, aad 
desiring to see all. I did lake what advantage I could 
of this, being very curious to know who was (hat tall 
lackey of signor Alberto's, and so 1 heard bis story. 

This tall man is a signor Giovanni Struni, a moat 
powerful noble, by his natural birth right. He and 
signor Alberto, being young, did both love the sama 
lady; but signor Alberto was the most favored. Signer 
Alberto was very high fortuned, and did rejoice in aU 
good favors, insomuch ihai he lived very roagnificentl]^ 
keeping a most goodly (rain, like a sovereign prinon. 
He and the Grand Duke were close friends, (the father 
of the prevent,) and in all things he outahone aignor 
Giovanni ns the sun might do tife moon. Whereat 
signor Giovonni did conceive so pusionatca malice^ 
that he could not brpok it, and often provoked tha 
other with unmannerly words; but this signor Albatto 
regarded not, as one that had the best of the matter. 

Soon after signor Alberto waa married, (which wan 
done with great pomp,) Giovanni, being pushed on bf 
his devilish malice and jealousy, did compass to seiaa 
the lady, and conveyed her away' to a castle of his. 
Signor Alberto was wild with wrath, and assembliog 
his people, set forth to recover her. and partly by tha 

^^Tr'*T~"*^~**WJSrand Duke, (who sent succors veif 

suddenly,) parTfTDy-. -^,. . t „ „ 

happy for Giovanni that he waTiiitpiWKJl — ^i!*"_^ 
Grand Duke's orders, or certainly signor Alberto would 
have slain him in his wrath. The lady discovered 
that Giovanni had tried to seduoe her, and after, Uka 
a new Tarquin. had tried a shorter way to hia will; 
but happily she brought back her virtue. But aha 
had been so sore frighted with these violences, break- 
ing in upon her hymeneal eonlenimenl, that aha died 
preaAitly. 

Then aignor Alberto became a changed man, and 
very melancholy for the loss of his love; but being 
withal a very devout and viriuoua man, he waa 
woaned from worljl I y vanities, and he said he repent, 
ed him^f many things, particularly towards Gioyann!, 
ssying that his misfortune was a punishment for the 
vain 

and he prayed 
an atonement to heaven for his fncnd." and it was 

done. 

Now, when Giovanni was releaaed, he did 
work still to satisfy hia greedy revenge; for the last 
benefit he did hold a mist notable injury and indignity. 
1 So. oae night, with many bravoea, he set upon signor 



sying tnai ois roisiunuiio i^-o » |,«...... — ..- -— — 

sin glory that had provoked Giovanni to so much; 
iiid he prayed of the Grand Duke to release him, •*af 



to 



18 



THE GGNTLBHAN'B MAGAZtNE. 



itabjedk 

w IwinnaKt ^ 



Alberto ia hii own Tineyard, and left him for dead ; 
but being hinuelf wounded in the leg, by one of his 
own baie companion! in the dark, he was left by them 
in the. open road, and taken by aignor Alberto's ser- 
vant*, who conveyed him straightway lo the Grand 
Duke, for fear their master should oblige them to re- 
lease him, and he was sent to Ibe gallies. 

Now about this time the gallies were badly ordered 
and victualled, and signor Alberto, who had not with- 
drawn himself from good works, did busy himself in 
mending the' condition of the miserable malefactors, 
in getting them priest!, and better food and lodging. 
One day he chanced to visit one of these gallies with 
the Grand Dake, and there he saw Giovanni, who had 
been newly removed ; and Giovanni, looking at him 
sternly, said, " It is worthy of the fine signor Alberto 
to mock his enemy, who is helpless and unarmed." 
Thereat signor Alberto burst into tears, to see his nrise- 
nible state, sitting in chains, with his hair and beard 
uncombed, and the prison clothes on. " God knows, 
signor Giovanpi," said he, " that I did not expect to 
find you here, and how sad it makes me to see you 
■0 low." And so he knelt down, and prayed the 
Grand Duke to release his enemy, even though he put 
the irons on his legs who had helped to place him 
there— meaning himself. And so with much labor he 
procured his freedom, and Giovanni left the country, 
and became a Tuck. 

Now a war broke out with some Turks of Barbary 
about certain vessels they had seized, and Alberto 
commanded a galley in the battle, and was taken pri 
••ner. It chanced that the galley which took him 
was commanded by the renegade, Giovanni, who had 
many Christians under him, renegades like himself) as 
knowing best how to command them. Finding he had 
his enemy io his power, he was transported with new 
rage. lie made them shave his head, and pot him in 
mean clothes, and bare his back, and so flog him with 

ropes. Then he changed his humor, and ""v*. ""^ 
, ... , , J r J » - -tWin)ut him on 
be nchly clad,^aijiJJB!. This was for payment oijhis- 
dwn freedom, being a right noble and proud gentle- 
man, though so devilishly wicked. But a terrible 
•torra arose, so that they could not land. . the sailors 
yere sore frighted, and being Christians, they repented 
of their sins, and setting Alberto free, made him their 
captain. They would have slain Giovanni in the 
rurmoil, but Alberts defended him at the peril of his 
life, and by blows and good woids made them be pa- 
cified. But Giovanni did not escape so well, but ho 
got a bad wound, which nigh killed him. They made 
for the port whence Alberto had come, and being 



landed, he procnred pardon for all who wera i 
of the Grand Duke— the more easily that they brought ' 
him hack. All thia while Giovanni was insensible, 
and Alberto, being master of the Grand Duke's friend- 
ship, again procured him pardon, and the return of all 
his possessions, to the wonder of all, at his obetinate 
generosity, and the Grand Duke's easiness, so that he 
came to life again in his own house. 

When he recovered, he was at fint strangely be- 
wildered ; but when he found where he was, and how, 
he sent straightway for a priest, and confessed liken 
good Christian, and was absolved of all his sins. Then 
he sent for his brother, and putting on plain clothes, 
like a mean man, he made all his people leave their 
arms, and follow him to signor Alberto's house. Signor 
Alberto's people seeing so great a force, were alarmed, 
and shut the gates; but signor Alberto, hearing that 
theyvwere all unarmed, made them be let into the 
court Then signor Giovanni, standing over againat 
sif nor Alberto, before all, confessed how . he had 
wickedly striven to take away his life, and how, in 
spite of many benefits, conferred in all Christian chtt- 
rity and humility, he had been still hardened, and 
most devilishly bent on his destruction ; to such a pa« 
that he had forsakeii the true roligton in that hope ; 
and, lastly, how he might have died in that accursed 
condition, but signor Alberto, at the peril of hia pre- 
cious life, had saved him, body and souL And now 
he. repented him bitterly of his immeasureable wick- 
edness, and thought that -he should still die of grief, if 
signor Alberto would not help him in his penance. 
And BO he gave up all his lands and houses to his 
brother, and besooght Alberto to receive him as hia 
servant. 

At first fignor Alberto would not hear him, but 
would have embraced him. But signor Giovanni, 
with abundance of teara 9»J- importunate prayen, at 
lenath oh*-— ■" '»"'«*»• There were those who 
rtwrnght this but a new stratagem of Giovanni to get 
•ignor Alberto in his power, and would have had 
signor Alberto mistrust him; but he did seem to troft 
him the more for their suspicions. And they were 
mistaken; for signer Giovanni proved a moat faithful 
and loving servant; and signor Alberto received hn 
services withal so lovingly, that all say it is a moat 
strange and lovely sight, to see goodness overmaster 
wickedness, even on this earth, so as to make it like 
unto itself; and signor Giovanni, who hath moat ex- 
cellent parts, and a noble temper, is held more great 
and honorable as a poor lackey, than when he was 
the master of fair lands and castles, with a princely 



train. 



Digitized by 



Google 



THE SEAT OP INFAMY. 



19 



THE SEAT O F I N F A M Y 



BY DOUOLAS JKBROLD, ENGLAND. 



It was noon, and the citizens of learoed Padua 
swarmed towards the Palazzo de Ragione. It was 
plain, there was some show afoot : some quacksalver 
hot from Venice; or, perhaps, some beatific Filippo 
Neri, wtlh new-made relics, fresh from Rome. . Of a 
surety, it wait something rare and strange that drew 
hundiads as one man towards the same spot. 

'< 'Tis forty years since such a thing was seen," said 
an old maD» who, his shaking hand grasping a stafi) 
and leaning on the shoulder of his grandson, hobbled 
onwaide as thongh he hastened to a shrine where 
youth and health might be had for kneeling. 

'* Ha > ba i that I should live to see this !" crowed a 
withered beldam, and she clapt her hands and sprang 
forward like a witch at the Sabbath. 

" Could any man have looked for it V* asked a grave 
tradesman of hia neighbor, as they both went with 
the crowd. 

It seemed that all the people of Padua were assem- 
bled at the halL It was with much labor that the 
city-guards kepi the maltitnde close-wedged, so vigor- 
ously did every one press to behold — what? 
I A eriminal, in shameful nakedness, seated oh a low 

f round stone at the end of the hall— on the Stone of 
Infamy. The culprit was. an old man, with that in 
his face which makes old age terrible. Years lay 
heavily upon his back, but a defying scorn had, for a 
time, flung off the load, and he sat upright as a staff 
He sat, and his eyes glowed like burning coals upoti 
the crowd that pressed to stare at him. He looked 
back the looks of hundreds, who quailed from his 
eyes as from the eyes of a snake. Many a rejoicing 
foe, who came to chuckle at the sight, shrank back, 
Mill fearful of his ancient enemy. There was a turnup 
in the heart of the old man — a fire in his brain — as 
he caught the eager face of many a fellow-citizen ; 
and he would tighten his arms across .his breast as 
i though holding in ft passion that swelled to burst it. 
Old Creso Quattrino sat nakedly upon the stone of in- 
fainy.^his grave was dug at his foot — and yet no 
<ie8potfrom his throne could have looked more fiercely, 
more coniemptuously around him. The crowd heeded 
not the fate of the victim, but — his grave was dug at 
Itis living foot. 

Creso Qiiattrino was Ihe youngest son of a noble, 
though impoverished house, ms elder brothers talked 
of glory, and cut their daily bread with hired-eut 
■Words. One by one, they died in their vocation, and 
^1 the eulogy that Creeo uttered over each, was— 
** fool." CresOr in early life, became a trader ; it was 
hii one l|ope to ** die rich;" it would be his glory to 
(Ittit life leaving heavy cofifers. Fortune smiled upon 
bi* de«re ; and ere the mouth of his first brother was 



stopped with the bloody mire of fame, C^eso could have 
thrice outweighed the helin, cuirass, and sword of the 
immortal warrior with merchant's gold. His four 
brothers, hired by four difierent states, died in battle. 
" They have their laurels," Creso would cry, with a 
sneering humility — " I have only ducats. They are 
sleeping on the wide bed of glory, and when the his- 
torian shall some day make known that in such a 
skirmish such a king was repulsed, such a duke was 
victorious, such a count kept his ground with a trifling 
loss, he will write in everlasting words the glowing 
epithets of my happy brothers." 

This humor increased with the wealth, with the 
years of Creso. With him, gold was power— was re- 
putation : no strength could overcome it — ^no shame 
could tarnish it. He looked upon hii ducats as kings 
look upon their mercenaries — the instruments of his 
will, the sure doers of his behests, however vile and 
ruthless. He was that squalid despot— a tyrannous 
miser. And he would die (jch ! 

Creso was past forty, when, with his gold he bought 
himself a wife — a creature of lustrous beauty — the 
eldest child of Marco Spori, a poor trader of Padua. 
Marco was doomed for a petty sum in the books of 
the man of wealth ; early and late he toiled to pay his 
creditor, and still some new misfortune made the labor 
vain. Creso, with a grim smile, would proffer farther 
aid, and then would praise the gentle looks of Marianna. 

" No, Messer ^uattrino," cried Marco, awakening 
to the meaning of his patron, " Marianna is wedded." 

<« Wedded!" exclaimed Quattrino, and his fiice 
darkened—^' wedded !" ^ 

" In promise," said Marco ; '* 'tis all as one, Messer 
Quattrino, if I understand you rightly." 

"Betrothed? To whom, friend Marco?" asked 
Quattrino, with constrained composure ; for love— or 
call the feeling by a grosser name — before unknown 
to the miser, had made him like one possessed. 

" To Pietro Leti." 

"Doubtless, some wealthy merchant? No? Humph? 
A scholar, perhaps, with a tongue silvery as Satan's ? 
Is your future son-inlaw, good Marco Spori, of the 
• Inflammati,* or ? — " 

" He rents a little vineyard," replied Marco, un- 
moved by the malignant banter of his creditor. *< His 
father lived and died upon it — a happy eld man — 
Why should not Pietro ?" 

'* And you will give your child — the tender, the 
beautiful Marianna, to hopeless poverty? You will 
blast that beauty with early care ? You will fling* her 
a prey to the tooth of want?" said Creso. 

" She will be poor— granted. Wherefore should 
she not be happy?" asked Marco. ^jOOglC 



90 



THE OBirrLBHAN^S (KAaAZINB. 



''The poor cannot be happy. Never open your 
eyes, man ; I speak a plain truih — a truth the rich 
well know, but never pceach. No ; it is iheir trick, 
folding Iheir purple round them, to hymn the praise 
or low esiate — to paint the happy carelessness of rags— 
the excellence of appetite begotten by hard drudger7 
Poverty ! Of all the arrows shut at our miserable na- 
ture, is there one ihat is not made the keener if whet- 
ted on the poor man's hearth ?" 

■*' That is true,'* said Marco, despoodingly — " too 
true, Messer Quattrino.*' 

" What is your state, now, while I speak, Marco 
Spori r Are you not hunted — even as a wild beast, 
l)unted ? Have you a tranquil thought ? Is there one 
fibre of your heart that is not pulled at by a rare 7 
You have children, too — things seiit, they say, to bless 
and crown you. But, then, good Marco, they some- 
times want a supper; and oh! the blessing" 

•* Do not, Messer Qoaltrino — fi»r the saints* sake • 
do not," exclaimed Marco, liAing his clasped hands 
entreaiingly. 

" There is no physician but gold ; trust me, there 
is not ; and when gold fails, believe it, there is no 
comforter but death." Such was the creed of Creso 
Quatirino. 

Marco sought his desolate home. As he lifted the 
latch, his heart quailed at the laughing voices of his 
younger children. Marianne read the thoughts of her 
father in his eyes. He sank upon a stool, and foT a 
moment, hid his face in his hands; then, looking 
vacantly at his daughter, he uttered — " Yes; 'twill be 
the best — that I should have thought of it! — it will 
be the best." 

" What, father ? Tell me, what r asked Marianne, 
winding her arms about his neck. 
" To end this — and there is but one way. Yes, I 

will make myself a show for the people of Padua 

what matters it f Tis but an hour— and shall I not 
be free?" " , - ' 

« Father!" 

** Every hope has left me, Marianne; turn where I 
Kill, I meet with scornful or with threatening faces. 
But there is yet a law In Padua, a kind law ibr the 
bankrupt," said Marco, shuddering. 

" What law? You do not moan?" 

" The Stone of Infamy" cried the father, his flesh 
quivering as he spoke. " Tis hot to sit an hour there 
— to sit and be stared at, and such is the good law, 
my creditors are paid."* 

. « And you will sit upon that stone?" asked Mari- 
anne. 

" I must— I will," groaned Marco. 
"When, father — when?" cried the girl. 
"To-morrow — if heaven will make me live— to- 
morrow," said Marco, and his head fell upon his 
bosom. « 

Marianna quitted her home, but in less than two 
houra returned. Her father sprang le his feet, as at 
the coming of a ghost. "Blessed Mother! Marianna!" 
cried Marco, staring at the white face, the cold eyes 
of his child. « What is this ?" he exclaimed, as she 
held a purse towards him. 



* SeeMorerL 



" Gold, father ! gold," said Marianna. 
"How got— how come by?" raved the ftther, for 
suddenly the wildest fears possessed him. 

*' You are saved from shame" — said the girl— 
•• from worse than death." 

** How ? Speak ! Marianna ; how f " exclaimed 
Marco. ' 

" I am the wife of Creso Quattrino," answered 
Marianna ; end as she spoke, she fell like a dead thing 
to the ground. - 

From the night Marianna became the wife of Quat- 
trino, she smiled but once ; it was when she kissed 
her newborn girl — a babe that, in one brief hour, was 
mothprleaa. For three years had Marianna lived a 
life of silent anguish. Her husband loathed her ibr 
the indiflWence with which she looked u^ion his 
wealth — for the coldness with which she listened te 
his gulden schemes—his bargains made from ignorance 
or want He felt — and the thought haunted him like 
a demon— itbat he had bought a victim, not wedded a 
partner. He Pelt himself, with all' his vwealih, hum- 
bled before the simple nature of Marianna ; her gen- 
tleness— her meek endurance — galled, enraged him; 
there was one lo whom his bags of gold were but as 
hoarded ashes. Reproach at length subsided into 
neglect, then tume<] into disgust ; and, when the miser 
looked apon the c]cad face of his wife, he Anded m 
sullen satisfaction. There was an intruding, though 
a silent, witness taken hence : even in the chamber 
of the dead, Quattrino breathed more freely. For the 
child, that should be to him a blessing — he would 
mould it to his own heart— there was no mother, no 
Marianna, with her speechless lips, yet cold, accusing 
eyes, to th wart the lessons of a thrifty father. The girl 
Bhould wed a piince; yes, he had already gold avM- 
cient — and time could not but treble it — to buy a 
throne. Auretta was scarcely three days old when, 
in the imagination of her parent, vain-glorious, dnmk 
with wealth, she was a royal bride. 

Years passed, and every year, Creso Quattrino be- 
came more hardened with his wealth. Fortune 
seemed his handmaid, so constantly did he proeper. 
His dealings were with men of all nations ; he scrupled 
not IQ furnish the infidel with arms, heedless of the 
penalty; for Mother Church denied the Christian titea 
of burial to such ingrate traders. " It matters not/' 
thought Creso, *• so that 1 die rich, I am well content 
to risk the rest." • • * • 

"Humph! where shall we meet te talk of thisr 
Thus one day spoke Quattrino to Jacob, the travelled 
Jew of Padua, with whom our Christian merchani w« 
wcmt to have many dealings. 

" Why not at your house, good signorT' asked Ja- 
cob. " Ere this, we have driven a bargain there." 

" rt has been noted ; therefore, 'tis fit we deal more 
privily. Art thou not a Jew ?"• 

•' 1 thank Abraham ! yes. I am a branded, despised 
Jew: I ihank Abraham!" 

"And I— I am a Christian; is it not so, Jacobr* 
asked Quattrino, a withering smile curling his lip. 

"f have heard that you were baptised, aignor QimU- 
trino," replied the Jew. 
" And ev eloae and fi«^t««>M oomatiBxiig aaj ^a- 



THB BEAT OF INFAMY. 



81 



mage me in the eoDfenioDal," said CreM>» end aiill he 



** Thy conftMional! iwfaeie may that place be found ?" 
iiiqDired Jecob. 

" Where I lay by my ducato, Jew. Undeniand 
me; our church hath eyea, and ean,and — hands; abd 
bog ones." 

** All this I know— all ihu I htfve felt," replied the 
Levite. 

*' This war with the Turk — if 'twere known that 
thou and I helped the wicked infidel to. cut good 
Christian throats — dost know what might heppen, 
Jew ? Thy bones would crack for it." 
** Ugh!" and the Jew shuddered. 
" Nay. more and worse ; my coin would shrink : the 
priestly hand — thou knowest how huge its clutch- 
would be among it. I thank my good god Fluius ! 
the war flourishes. 'Twas a hot fight the last — there 
are widowa wailing in Venice. J> w." 

**! thank my God ! the God of Abraham, for it?" 
cried the Jew, with, deep devotion ; ** I have caiue to 
hate thy brethren— God knows it!" 

" Saidst thou brethren, Jew? To me all men are 
brethren — 'tie the good creed taught me by my gold. 
Bleiised talisman! Glorious property: sufieniitg (he 
haoghiy^-strengthcning the weak; giving to biro, who 
Yigbtly knows its use. a power ahd mastery beyond nil 
other jnigtiU The Turk bids for my aid ; I sell him 
urns, wherewith he cuts a thousand Chri:>tian throats, 
making Christian children fatherless. And nhy in 
this f I will tell you. Why is the Christian slaugh- 
tered? The goodly, peaceful creature covets a iair 
patch of earth— >a glittering city— the dominion of a 
stranger s river. He is an mfidel viho holds it— >it is 
enough ; the unbeliever's land is soaked with human 
Uood ; the city is besteged~*a hell of flames is roaring 
loood its walls— the breach is made ; rapine, murder, 
tad last whoop thioogh the streei^-and the flHg of 
vietofy flies over blood and ashes. Tho Christians 
have conquered ; and with sweet humility, and deep 
Aaaitaiiving, they make the church roof echo with a 
bod Te Demn! With brazen lace and iron h^rt, they 
thaak their God, that they have prospered in a work, 
Ihat devils might have blanched at" 

** Do I hear Creso Quattrino, the merchant of Pa- 
ulas T' asked the Jew, looking astonishment. 

**Th<ae hideous mockeries, good Jacob— thii wan- 
ion tyranny of the strong— have made me look upon 
ike doings of this world as a grim, lantastic, wicked, 
foolish mask. Virtue, justice, honor! What are they 7 
^^Ndi^--tiiiUittg syllables for aweating slaves, like 
Ml* to drudging camels. There is but one thing. 
Certain— gold 1 Grasp that— yoa grasp power; a 
Pi^wer, that though the poor may hate, they must ac- 
^Mmledge. Orasp gold, and you poll the heart- 
itrings of that god-like creature, man, as boys work 



"I love mydueats, good signer Creso; and yet, 
^>Bgit by ewD people, there ia, I think, something 
' kne more,** s^id Jacob. 

'^^n-'.-mon than thy duoats, iawf' ashed Qoat- 



*%;tlM 



Uadly gfeatinga; 



need I add, the smile* of ny children f'ffiid the#e«r, 
and Creso bit his lip. 

** The'smilea of children !" and as Creaa spoke, a 
sadden desolation stared from his eyea. 

*' That is a wealth!" cried the Jew, <«that is a 
wealth!" 

*• Can it be tested?" exclaimed Creio; ** tell me, 
Jacob— 'tell nle how f ' 

^* You are yourself a father, signer Quattrino— (ha 
father of a beautiful maideu ; a thing of goodness, of 
gentleness."' 

'* Thoa didst know her mother, Jacob?" asked fha 
merchant. 

" Auretia is her mother's self— her very self," cried 
the Jew. ** Tis twenty-three years ago— alack ! time 
slides, time slides! But 1 have tarried long. Where 
shall we meet to-night, since to thy hearth the Jew 
brings peril ?'* 

" By the Palono de Ksgione — by the SUme.'^ 
Humph ! See you not, Jacob, that I preach truly? The 
Stone of Infamy! Poverty, at the fount of this world, 
is christened infamy: christened! branded with a 
burning brand. The Stone of Irfamy! Right — very 
right — Mis filly called; fordid a glistening angel sit 
there, men would loathe it." 

' «« By the Stone; good. The honr?" and the Jew 
prepared io depart. *' The hour?" 

•• Stay ! not there. There is ihanksgrving at 8t 
Antony's for our victory, for we claim it, over the is^ 
fidel ; I must be there." 

*' Yuu, there?" and the Jew gaaed and then smiled 
grimly. ** Vou at the thanksgiving?" 

** Ay; being beaten, tVe infidel hath greater need 
of arms. You thank at the synagogue — I at the cth 
ihedral. Meet roe at nine." and Creao Quattrino 
turned to seek his solitary home— solitary, though « ^ 
daughter dwelt there. '* 'The mother's self— her veif 
self," he muttered, aa he took his way — *" would aha 
were not so !" 

On the marriage of Marianna, Pietro Lett quitted 
his native Padua for FleteDce, where he ibnnd a wilh 
in .the daughter of a thrifty vine-grower, who, dying, 
bequeathed his son-in-law a small estate ; and in a fow 
years Pietro became a pirosperous nan, with weaMi 
enough to send Luigi, his only child, to study at tha 
ichnol of Padna. It was to gtre a meeting to the 
young scholar thai the Jaw had hastened from Qaat> 
irino. 

" I have waited, Jacob,'* said Lurgi, wilh an impa- 
tient look, as the old man entered his dwelling. 

** I crave your pardon, gentle sir— sodden bnaiiiaai ^ 
with the signer Quattrino, held me." 

** lla ! Quattrino. Thou knowest him, then ? I hafl 
heaid so. Thou art fsiendst'* added Luigi. eanieatly. 

" We sometimes trade logethei^— nothing nsore: ov 
friendship is bounded by our ducats," said the Jew. 

** Dost know his daughter — hast ever seen the I 
tiful AiiretU?" and the youth ooloied, and I 
trembled. 

** Seen her ? Ay, a thousand timea. Thoti nayvst 
have heaid thy iaiher speakof her' BM«herr said aha 
Jew, filing his eyes npoo Luifli. 

"Anretla's mother? Never. Why sfcoiiMhaapMk 



22 



THE GBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



of her ?" inquired Luigi, moved by the scrotininng 
glance of the Jew. 

" ril tell you. The ttory, youth, may haply save 
thee much miaery — may profit the beautifol Aoretta." 

"Oh, speak! good Jacob—Bpeak !" exclaimed the 
impatient boy. 

" Thy father wai to have wedded the moiher of 
Aurena — ihey were betrothed." 

" Betrothed ! Tii strange I never heard of this. 
Betrothed ! What barred the match f" asked Luigi. 

" Poverty. To save her father from the direst 
shame, poor Marianne became the wife of the rich 
Qaattrino Her daughter — I have heard the merchant 
vaunt as much — is destined foi^a prince." 

** A prince V* cried Luigi. 

" No less ; and be sure of if, young sir, Quattrino*s 
wealth may make even princes sloop to wed Auretta." 

" Sloop to wed her — stoop, Jew V* 

** But we did not meet to talk of this," said the old 
Jew, marking the earnestness of Luigi — " we met not 
for this." 

"True. Well, Jew, shall I have the money?" 
asked Luigi. 

" A thousand ducats — and the security ?" aud Jacob 
paused, and stared in the face of the scholar. " The 
security." 

"Thou knowest I am my father's hMr. Thou 
knowest, he has no child save me. Draw what bond 
thou wilt, I am content to sign it." 

" Death is a slow paymaster," said the Jew. 

tf But the surest, Jacob," replied Luigi. 

" A thousand ducau 7 'Tis a large sum for a 
•cholar. Truly, what need hast thou, a bookman, of a 
thousand ducats r 

" Say, to spend in a revel — to boy a gondola— to 
purchase music — a sparkling stone — nay, to cast into 
the Adriatic— what matters it to theef Shall 1 liave 
the money, or shall I seek a reedier Aierchantr* asked 
the youth, and he rose to depart. 

" Stay, gentle sir— thou shalt have the money. This 
night at nine— I'll have the deed prepared." 

" Where shall we meet?" 

" Here," replied the Jew, and the youth took his 
way from the house, and, with hurried steps, sought 
the mansion of Qnattrino.. 

"Blessed St Mary!" cried Auretta's nurse, as she 
met Luigi at the door, " my master — know you not 
be is at home?— should he see yon" 

" Go-^say I beg some words with him," said Luigi. 

" Are you mad, young master 7 — Are you mad ?" 

*' Fear not, good nurse— I have conned my lesson ; 
fear nothing. Say, a student craves a qieeting with 
the merchant" The nurse obeyed, and the young 
scholar stood in the presence of the haughty, purse- 
proud Quattrino. 

" Now, youth," said Creso, " what trade would you 
drive with roe ?" 

" I would purchase your dearest treature, signer 
Quattrino," replied the simple-hearted youth. 

" Ay ? then art young for a merchant What trea- 
sure, child f " asked Creeo. 

" Thy daughter,'* answered Luigi ; and the old man 
gasped' at the word. 



*My daughter? Truly: thou wouldst boy the 
heiress of Creso Quattrino? Doubtless, then come8|^ 
to market with a ducal crown, a conntship— nothing 
less ? Thou wouldst buy my daughter — thou-^a stu- 
dent ? but I err— I see, thou art a prince, a noble gen- 
tleman, jesting in the bare gown of a poor scholar." 

" I am called Luigi Leti," answered the boy. 

" Leti !"vexclaimcd the merchant 

" Son of Pietro Leti, "bnce of Padua, now of Flo- 
rence. You may have heard of him, signor Quat- 
trino?" 

^ " And thou dost love my dangfatei^thou dost love 
Auretta?" asked Quattrino, waiving an answer. 

" And would win her— win her at thy hands," re- 
plied Luigi. 

" Knows she of this meeting? Doth she sanction 
thy request — hast thou," asked -the merchant, with 
deep dissimulation, " hast thou her heart? Thou hastt 
And what — what may Luigi Leti ofler a doing father 
for this priceless gem?" " 

" The harvest of my sword," answered Luigi. 

" Thy sword 7 A student's sword 7" 

"Creso Quattrino, my soul abhors deceit: 'tis pos- 
sible I might have won the jewel of thy house despite 
thy will." 

" Is it so ?" cried Quattrino, and his heart labored 
with hate-^wiih thoughts of ruthless vengeance. 
" My daughter would have flown from me — would 
have wedded wii]! a poor scholar ? Thou art a brave, 
a noble youth, Luigi ; thou hast rightly said, thy heart 
abhors deceit I read that glad assurance in thine 
eyes : give me thy hand," and the subtle merchant 
pressed the palm of Luigi, smiling in his face. " I 
see thy purpose, youth— thou wouldst not rob an old 
man of his only joy; thou comest to tell me this?" 

" I come to ask a promise," said Luigi. 

** Speak; the openness of thy nature hath won me : 
my heart yearns towards thee, Luigi ; trust me, it 
does. Humph!" an^ still Creso smiled upon his 
victim — '* thy features make me think of days that- 
well, well, they're past How is the good Pietro ? 
He wedded happily— very happily. I have heard 
much of the virtues of thy good mother. But thou 
comest to ask a boon? Name it, good Luigi — name 
it." 

" I have closed my book — have thrown aside my 
student's gown, and in three days take ship from 
Venice," said Luigi. 

" Take ship — whither?" asked the gladdened mer- 
chant. 

" For the war against the Turk," replied the ymilh. 

" A brave lad ! a pious lad ! Ha ! ha ! thou'U make 
rare work among the heathen. 'Tis a pious purpose." 

" Will thou promise me, signer Quattrino, if I return 
to Venice with an honored name — with glory won 
upon the infidel — wilt thou promise me Auretta 7" 

" Thy laurels 'gainst her ducats. Thou'lt prove a 
lucky champion, if thou dost compass it" 

" Shall I have thy word, signor Quattrino ?" aaked 
Luigi. 

"Thou hast her word already — is it not so?" 
questioned the smiling merchant "Nay, I warrant 
me, 'twas not the timid girl who put auch bard con- 



THE SEAT OF INFAMT. 



23 



I? Doabtlen Aoretta would wed the«, though 
ihoa ihouldst never cleave a tuiban ?'* 
" l^hall I have thy promiM f " praised the youth. 
» Thou halt made me thy friend for ever, Lnigi. 
Like a thief, ihou mighteet have robbed> me of my 
dearest wealth— ^aay. more, have laughed at the de- 
spoiled old man thy wit had beggared. Mot a gallant 
iq all Padua, aave thyself, good Luigi, would have 
dealt thus openly. Well, simplicity should win sim 
plicity. When dost thou purpose to depart 7" 
** In three days." 

** Thou art equipped then— «very thing prepared ?" 
" I have secured the means. At nine, to-nighi, I 
meet Jacob the Jew — " 

" Though an Israelite, an honest man. And he 
advances thee the means f To-night, ai his house 7 — 
ay, indeed," said the crafty merchant. " Well, thou 
must sup with me to-night: say at ten, good Luigi; 
Ihen we can talk of Auretta. Thou wilt not fail — 
Day, I must see thee to the door ;" and Qoattrino, with 
well acted courtesy, attended the duped Luigi to ihe 
threshboldi As the merchant stood at his door, a mes- 
seoger from Venice arrived, bearing a letter ior Quat- 
triDo. 

" X pray, signor/' said ihe man, */ that it may 
^g good new£ — but there are grievous rumors in 
VcDice." 

A moment, Quattrino glared at the messenger ; then 
hurriedly broke the seal. Another moment, and he 
daggered like a drunken man. ** Gone ! lost.' sunk V* 
he screamed, and his face grew livid. 

" Signor— good signor!" cried Luigi, grasping the 
armofCreso. 
** Tis true, then 7" asked the messenger. 
''My argosy — worth a princedom — and sunk!" — 
gTMned Quattrino. 

"Say not so, good signor; hope the best," said 
Loigi. 

Quattrino looked -as one stunned at Luigi, and then 
gnsped his hand, and with a forced smile, said — 
"No matter: the loss shall not spoil our supper. 
Mind— at ten to-night, Luigi ; at ten to-night." he re* 
pasted, the messenger standing by, " I shall expect 
FOB- The news shook me a little — but 'tis over. Re- 
iMmbsr, Luigi — at ten," and Quattrino, followed by 
the messenger, turned into his house. 

Ai the dock struck nine, Luigi knocked at the 
to of the Jew. The deed was epeedily signed, and 
Loigi, with the counted ducjits, bade the Jew good 
Dight Ere the Jew could place the deed in his chest, 
be heard the cries of Luigi and a noise of struggling 
men. The Jew rushed inio the street, when Luigi, 
making to the house, fell into ihe old man's arms, 

"Holy Abraham! what has happened?" exclaimed 
Ae Jew. 

"A villain set upon me— 1 am slain!" cried the 
r<)Qik, and he slipped from the feeble hold of the Jew, 
uid fell dead upon the earth. v 

The neighbors ran into the street — ihe watch came 
up— the Jew was seixed on suspicion of the murder, 
00 nan but himself being found near the body. His 
<:i««d was sufficient evidence of his wtcked n sas he 
^vtt % Jew, and that-of itself, waa witness against him. 



Hia house was ransacked by the officen of justice^ 
and all his papers seised. 

" Thou art innocent of the murder 7" aaid the iM- 
cer, *' well, it matters not ; thou wilt have work 
enough to answer for thy treasons." 

"I will confess all — every thing — ^but spare my 
life— let me be saved from torture," cried the Jew, 
and he lore his beard, and howled in agony, when ht 
beheld the the discovered papers proving his corre- 
spondence with the agent of the Turk. " I — ^I waa 
not alone in the bargain," exclaimed the Jew—** the 
Christian merchant^ there is proof of it— Creao Quat- 
trino was my partner." 

Ere midnight, Creeo Quattrino and the Jew Jacob 
were ftsl in jail~prisoners to the state. The assassin, 
hired by the merchant.. had done his work; but the 
blow that did a murder, helped to reveal a treason. 

The wntched Jew was doomed to the wheel«-the 
Christian merchant obtained his freedom, but only 
with the loss of all his wealth. He was fined for hia 
treasons to an amount that absorbed his every posses 
sion, leaving him a debtor to many, who, in iheir time, 
thwarted and oppressed by Quattrino, resolved to 
revenge themselves of his past tyranny. Quattrino 
Blood in the streets of Padua without a home, wtlhout 
a meal, save at the hands of charity. 

" And is it come to this? And shall I die poor-^ 
after all — a beggar !" he cried, half resolved to end hia 
miserable life ; and then the hope, vain as he thought 
it, the hope of future 'fortune, made him bear the load 
of life — ^ne, he could not die a pauper. 

''And now, signor 7 The five thousand cidwimi 
between us— I hav« need of them," said a creditor to 
the broken merchant. 

- Give me time— a litde time, good Battista," soU- 
cited the humble Creeo. 

" Ay, and more than thou hast given to any man : 
my crowns, to-morrow, or the jail," answered the 
creditor. 

** The jail ! What— a felon debtor 7 Thou do|^ 
thou cur, that—" 

"Is it so 7" -said the creditor. ''Well, then, to- 
morrow look thou to lie in debtor's straw." 

All night Quattrino wanderad through the streeta. 
His reason reeled beneath his misery. He paused 
before the Palaza di Ragione ; and, as he stood, a 
monk — who had been to confess a dying man— ap- 
proached him. 

"Blessed St. Antony!" cried the friar, ** is jt the 
merchant — is it signor Qoattrino f' 

"Mo. The merchant is dead — ^I am his ghost, 
doomed to wander where the rich man lived in glory," 
answered Creeo. 

"What was thy wealth?— perishable dust! My 
son, there is better wealth hoarded for thee." 

" Where, monk — where 7" asked Quattrino.^ 

" Wealth eternal," replied the friar. 

"Humph! Canst lend me ten thousand preaent 
ducats 7" demanded Creso. " Look there ! Is not that 
the Stone of Infamy f And now, see"— and Quattrino 
griped the arm of ihe friar*-" see, who stands there 
and beckons me* to it! Dost not see hia 7 I^wk— 
tia young Luigi — ^he, the scholar, who was slgin. He 



84 



THE 6SirrLBHAN*S MAOAZINB. 



p to rit there : me ! Cm«o Quattrino, ibe 
princely merchant of Padua, throned on the Stmie of 
htftrmtiX Ha ! ba !" And, wiih a yell, the paaper 
Cieto rosbed from the shoddering friar. 

The next day Quail rino encountered Baltiafaw — 
«'Now, merchant?*' said the creditor — ^^ my ducats, 
my ducatB, good Meaaer Crete — roy ducats, or the jail : 
fbere — for who in Padua hath not feD the biiternem 
of thy opprenion f there thou ahalt rot and die my 
debtor ?" 

" Die thy debtor ! Thy debtor? — ^a crawling chap- 
man !~-thoa, who in my days of wealth didtt cringe 
before me like n beaten hound ? — I ^%i^^ and spit at 
tibee!" exclaimed old Creao. 

** Arrest him at my rait ; to the jail with him,*' 
eried Battitta to a ready officer. 

** nold-^hold !" Bhmtted Creso^-*« I — t claim ny 
privilege— the privilege of a citizen of Padua.** 

** What privilege T asked the officer. 

•* The — the" — Creso stood conyolsed with pasiion ; 
**I will not die thy debtor — I will tit upon the SKme." 

The crowd that were gathered about Creso and his 
creditor, echoed the ** Stone P* end looked astonished 
At each others' faces— and then, as rejoicing at a pro- 
mised feast, whooped and shouted—** Qjaitrino on the 
Stone of lifamyr " Creso a bankrupt !" 



The Best morning Creao, the golden merchmt, al 
he was called, became a speciarle of shame and 
wretchedness to the men of Padua ; ibr one hour, ho 
sat upon the Stone rf Infmny! 

** Now, Quattrino, the time is op — Ihon hast sat the 
hour-^ihy debts are paid," said the Judge. 

** I am no debtor, by the law of Padua ?'* asked 
Quattrino, and with an eflbrt he rose from his fgno- 
roiniousseat, and griping the armofoneof the guards 
with the gripe of death, he looked as one risen from 
his coffin; **I die no debtor!" be gasped, and fell, 
huddled, to the earth. 

'* Santa Maria ! he's dead," exclaimed Battista. 

** Ha! ^a! he's dead !" screamed an old crone. 

Ere the beggar Quattrino was borne from the Hall, 
there was a cty of *^The argosy — the argosy!" — and 
a messenger from Venice hnrried through the crowd 
to the self-puisoned crimipal. Quatirino's vessel, ru- 
mored as lost, rode in tfaO Adriatic, freighted with 
unbounded wealth. 

"She's nife!— she's -h^re!" exclaimed Quattrino^ 
and he writhed with the poison, ** in port ! safe in 
port! Ha! ha! I die no pauper — I die" — and with 
bis eyes glazing upon the messenger of fortune, the 
miserable Creso *< died rich." 



THE WANDERER. 



BT VISS OATHARIIfC H« WATBEMAN. 



Um went in the foUoess of boyhood and pride, 
Hope, wreaih'd with young roses, career*d et his aide, 
▲ad aoatter'd the sunbeams from off her light wiBg» 
to gild with glad pvMBises every diiag. 

He walk'd among fleweis that weloom'd his ieet, 
While the rivulet murmur'd its melody sweet. 
The spring bird sang biy the on the neighboring spray. 
And the wanderer smiled as ho wended hie way. 

He left the young bloasomB i« childhood he nanft, 
£fe the tree in its fullness of beauty covld burst, 
Aad the fond hoarls that haliow'd the hearth of his 

home, 
He heedlessly left, in his boyhood to 



And proud was the Ibototep, end iearlsoi, and free. 
That paced o'er the waves of a far swelling sea. 
And sail o'er the water, refulgent and bright* 
The gkdetaor of hofo was the waadeier's light. 

Bal lime wrooght e ehMge, end the slw wvBod 

night, 
rrjU froble Md Mat spm ils #iiMMrt«g light. 



And scares thro' its mists o'er the ocean's dark fiwi^ 
Cottld he iraoe the lov'd scenes orhis boyhesd mA 



And when the dark locks on his forehead wars 
The wanderer oame to the haunis of his play, 
The flowers that budded wherever he trod. 
Lay wither'd end pale on the deaelale aod. 

The waters were still that had led him eloog. 
With lullaby murmurs of music and song. 
The birds had forsaken their nests in the bough, 
And dreary and dark was its loneliness now. 



The step of the aged was feeble and weak. 
And time ploughed the furrows of care on his cheek, 
And he stood in the once happy hall of his birth, 
A desolate being, beside the old hearth. 

He siood till the swell of sad ieeUngs ewept bf , 
And the feeble old -men brosh'd a tear Ifom his-€f8» 
He saw the Bifht dews his euie p awi on a* gvaees gMH^ 
Aad tlw waa dwat sKm to eis ia <HMst wilh Jwl 



THR TOUirO I,Ai>T OEBATlOlf. 



35 



PEN AND INK SKETCHES 

OV TAftlOtf0 MSMBBEd 0# 

THE YOUNG LADY CREATION 



if it gets w«t She piiiet poor Mr. Brown, ** ho ho 
■ttch a taste I npihing but cabbages and potatoea ia 
his ganlen." *TU singular thst, wiih all this fund of 
YH>in passion, she was never known to pity a deserving 
object. That would be too much matter of fact Her 
oompassioo is of a more etherial teiture. She neveff 
gave onjr thing to a beggar, unless he was " an ex* 
ceediogly picturesque young man." Neit to the paa< 
sion of pity, she is bletit with that of love. She lovsa 
the moon, ^he luves each of the stars individually* 
She loves the sea, and when she is out in a small 
boat, loves a storm of all ihings. Her dislikes, ii must 
be confessed, are equally strong and cspaoious. Thui 



THE ROMANTIC YOUNG LADY. 

Tbemm ia at present eiisling in a plain brick houae, 
within twenty miles of our habitation, a young lady 
whom we have christened ** the romantic young lady," 
ever since she came to an age of discretion. We 
have known her from her childhood, and can safely 
■firm that she did nut take this turn till her fifteenth 
year, just after she had read Corinne, which at that 
time was going the round of the reading society. 

At that period, she lived with her father in the 
next villsge. We vvell remember calling accidentally, 
and being informed by her that it was ** a most angelic 
day," a truth which certainly our own experience of, she hates that dull woman, Mrs. Briggs. She can't 
the cold and wet in walking across wihiM have in- bear that dry book, Rollin's history. She detests high 
dined us to dispute. These were the /irsi words | roads. Nothing with h^r is in the mean. She either 
which gave ns a hint as to the real state of the young dotes or abominates. If you dance with her at a ball* 
lady'e mind ; and we know not bat we might have ahe is sure to begin phiUwophising, in a small way. 
passed them over, had it not been fur certain other I about the feelings. She is poriicuieily partial to wear* 
expressions on her part, which served as a conHrma* | ing fresh Hewers in her hair at dinner. You would 
tion of our melancholy suspicions. Thus, when our be perfeeily thunderstruck to hear, from her own lips, 
atlentien was pointed at a small sampler, lying on the , what an immense number of dear friends she has, 
table, covered over with three alphabets in red, blue, I both young and old. male and female. Iler corres- 
sod black, with a miniature gieen pyramid at the top, ; pondence «%uh young ladies is somcihing quite appal- 
ihe observed pathetically that ** it waa done by herself ling. She whs never kiio\\u, however, in her life to 
in her infancy;"* afier which, turning to a daicy give one actual piece of iiiforraution, except in a posl- 
in a wioe gla^s, bhe a^ked us lan^s niching ly if we love script. Iler hand wriiing is excessively Idlipulian, yet 
fljwers, aflinniiig in ihe same breath that "bhe quite ' she al^^ayscro&scii in red ir.k. and sometimes re<Tos£cs 
doaied on them, and vcnly believed that if there were ' again in inviMble green. She hns read all ihelave 
no fljweis, shokhould die outright. These expressions novclrf in Christendom, and is quite in love with that 
caused ua a lengihened meditation on the young dear Mr Buhver. Some prying persons say that she 
lady's case, as we walked home over the Heidi, ^or, \ has got the complete works of Lord Byron ; but on 
wiih all allowances made, could we avoid the melan- , that point no one is perlectly certain. If she has a 
choly conclusion that she was gone romantic. " There ^ younger brother fresh from school, he is always ridi- 
is no hope for her," said we to ourselves. ** Had she | culing her fur what she says, trying to put her in a 
only gone maiJ^ there might have been some chance." , passion, in which, however, lie rarely suceeeJs. There 



As usual, we were correct in our surmises. Within 
two months after this, our romantic friend ran away 
with the hairdressers apprentice, who settled -her in 
the identical plain brick house so honorably mentiuned 
above.' 

From our ohaervations upon this case, and others uf 
a similar kind, we feel no hesitation in laying before 
our readers tho Ibllowing characteristics, by which 
ihey shall know a romantic young lady within the first 
ten minutes of introductkin. In the first place, you 
vUi observe that she always drawls mtire or leas, using 
generally the drawl pathetic, occasionally diversified 
with the drawia ■ympaiheiic, melancholic, and semi- 
melancbolta Then she ia always pitying or wonder- 
ing. H«r pity knowa no bounds. Sha pities " the 
BOOT Sfkwum itt w wiw." Shn jpiuaa km CricQ4*« •hawi 



lA one tiling in which she excels half her sex, for sht 
hates scandal and guf^sip. 

To conclude, the naturalist may liy down three 
principal eras in the romantic young lady's life. The 
first from fifteen to nineteen, while she is growing ro- 
mantic; the second, from nineteen to twenty-one» 
while she keeps romantic ; and the third, from twenty- 
one fo tweniy-nine, during which time ahe gradually 
subsides into common sense. 



THE MATTER OP FACT YOUNG LADY. 

OrposKn to the romantic yoong lady, a class daily 
I eroming smaller, there is a class very common in 
tttaitasian liuMi^ wfatND iiv« d«MgB«l« ** the «•!> 



26 



THE GENTLBHAN^S MAGAZINE. 



tA of fiict young ladiM»" for want of a betteMiame. 
Theie yoang ladioi are always moat particularly cau- 
tious in every thing connected with them and thein. 
They were never known to receive a kin from their 
male couaina, are always most punctiliously neat, and 
anticipate old maidenism by- ten years, being scrupu- 
lous beyond measure in wearing dresses as plain and 
angular as themselves: Their conversation is wholly 
on actual things, without the slightest intrusion of 
an idea. They take literally every thing that you 
say, and are never surprised by any thing. You will 
not find a book of poetry on their shelves. The first 
fow will, beyond doubt, be nothing but dictionariea : 
the second, abridgments of histories and recipes, [ja 
general they have no ear for music, and never touch- 
ed a piano in their life. There are a variety of 
Aings of which they could never see the use. Thus 
they could never see the use of drawing, when prints 
can be had so cheap. They could never see the use 
of fancy-work. They could never see the use of 



We once met one of these matter of fact young 
ladies in company with the romantic young lady. 
Nothing could be more amusing than the contrast. 
Whatever put the romantic young lady into ecstacies, 
was sure to make the matter of fact young lady look 
more than usually, dull and insipid. When the ro- 
mantic young lady expresBed her intense delight at 
the beauty of the evening, the matter of fact young 
lady averred that she could see nothing in the night 
more than common, except that it was very likely to 
give a cold. 

But, to proceed with the characteristics which we 
were giving, it is to be observed that your matter of 
fact young ladies, if you are admitted suddenly into 
the sitiing-cpom, will invariably be found engaged in 
the delightful process of mending a stocking. Your 
entrance, yeu would suppose, might interrupt this de- 
licate work. By no means. The matter of fact 
young lady sees nothing in it, as some others of our 
weaker-minded acquaintance might ; but goes on as 
unconcernedly as ever, till the heel is finished oflTin 
regular rows of parallel straight lines, like a minia- 
ture ploughed field. Every now ftnd then, without 
lifting up her eye, she gives you a word which you 
answer. Her first question is invariably concerning 
the health of your paternal ancestor, her second ditto 
about your mother, her third ditto about your sister 
Mary Anne, and so on through the catalogue. She 
then hopes that you yourself are in good health, and, 
having declined the word health from beginning to 
end, asks confidently who it is that mends your 
stockings, thus making a gentle reference to her own 
pleasing occupation. After this, she tells you Without 
asking, to your eternal satisfaction; that her brother 
John went out shooting yesterday with a gun, and 
killed two robins; that her father is gone into the 
town about old Betty's leg, which she broke three 
weeks ago, in getting over the style near Mrs. Smith's, 
and that her mother is in the kitchen watching the 
cook making raspberry jam. This leads her to various 
acute ohservatkms, first on jam in general, and se- 
condly, 00 raspberry jam in particular. She aaks you 



how your mother makes it ; and, having thus amused 
yon as much as she thinks proper for some twenty mi- 
nutes, informs you graciously that she must be going 
now, since she *' is wanted." You make your bow 
and exit together, saying inwardly, " Hang her for a 
matter of fact young lady !" 



THE EVANGELICAL YOUNG LADY. 

Far be it from us to decry true religion wherever 
it be found, more especially among the youthful fair, 
who can wear no ornament more precious or becom- 
ing. But of late there has sprung up a strange sort 
of morbid religion among the young ladies of our 
neighborhood, which deserves especial notice; wo 
have carefully watched the whole progress of this 
disease in destroying the innocent mirth of our neigh- 
borhood, and caif affirm most indubitably on the 
strictest historical evidence, that it began with Miss 
Slugs, the attorney's daughter, about a year-and-a-haif 
ago. That distance of time has now elapsed, since 
upon paying a visit in that quarter, we found the 
once cheerful and vivacious Miss Slogs, sitting in the 
drawing room in a very plain dress, with an extremely 
sulky look, and doing nothing. We began our con- 
versation with her in our usual mirthful style, v^ich 
she had been accustomed to approve. But to each 
of our several witticisms she replied with only a cool 
yes or no. At last, fancying that we had hit on 
something to please her, we asked whether she was 
going to the ball on Friday. What was our surprise 
when, starling back in the utmost horror, Miss Slugs 
answered in this manner^-"! thought," said she, 
«< you were aware that I never go to balls now ? I 
consider them to be extremely improper." After this 
she gratuitously quoted, for our exclusive information, 
two or three pages of Scripture, to all which we 
listened reverently, as we always do when Scripture 
is read, yet not without pain at thinking how greatly 
she perverted those doctrines, which, however serious 
in their ultimate objects, are yet, in our humble 
opinion, by no means opposed to occasional mirth. 

We did not again visit Miss Slogs for some time ; 
but every now and then reportr reached us that she 
was becoming daily more particular. First we heard 
that sho had prevailed on her mother to dress the two 
maid-servants in a plain uniform of blue and white. 
Then came the report that she had set up a private 
Sunday school in opposition to the minister's academy. 
By degrees she did not come to church so often as 
usual, leaving her motlier to oeme alone. This sur- 
prised us particularly. We are curious, if not inquisi- 
tive. We called on our neighbors, inquiring the 
cause of this derelictbn on the part of Miss Slugs. It 
appeared that in her opinion, our minister, who is a 
very excellent man, and a great friend of the bishop's, 
did not preach the GospeL We puBled ourselves fo 
discover what ahe could be at during church time, 
since slie did not come to church. But th« task wat 
beyond us. A faint mmor.and nothing more, readied 



THB TOHNO LADT CREATION. 



27 



. m thaton tucb oecaaiona'she sat before the kitchen 
fire with the oook maid reading tracts. Accounta now 
ipread of varioua smaii quarrels between Mrs. Slugs 
tad Miss Slugs on the subject of religion. It seems 
the old lady conld not be prevailed on to forswear a 
pink ribbon in her cap. Any thing else she was 
willing to give up to please her daughter, bat not the 
pink ribbon. The pink ribbon, therefore, wap a per- 
petual sonrce ^ dispute, which did not end till the 
daughter herself cut it off one night when her mother 
wae in bed. This news, important os it was, hardly 
prepared lis for the next step of Miss Slugs, which 
was no less than a secession from the Episcopalian 
Church. At first we doubted our ears — but the re- 
port gained ground, and (here was no coune but to 
believe it All doubt was finally removed from our 
mind two or three weeks afier by the witness of our 
own eyes. For as we were* walking one Sunday 
morning along the banks of a small river, we camp 
upon a shady place, where about two hundred per- 
sons were collected, ril looking very intently upon the 
centre of the stream. We ourselves turned our eyes in 
die same direction, and beheld the anabaptist black- 
smith and carpenter in the very act of turning Miss 
Slugga backwards into the water. She was dressed 
in flannel (or the occasion. The case was plain. Miss 
Sings had become an anabaptist, and the neit day- 
married the carpenter. 

Although no other }oung ladies followed the exam- 
ple of Miss Slogs to the extent which she went, there 
was acaroe one, saving and except the romantic and 
matter of fact young ladies, who was not touched with 
a spirit of secession more or less. With some the fit 
lasted a fortnight. With others, three or lour months. 
With a few half a year. During this time, the balls 
were attended by old maids only, and in consequence 
received gieat detriment, from which they have not 
yet recovered. At present, the young ladies are pret- 
ty neariy come back to their senses. It is only to be 
hoped that they will not now become as violently 
fond of amusements, as they have lately been vio- 
lently opposed to them. This sudden chapge is oHen 
the caae in republics, and perhaps even the republic 
of ycmng ladies is not exempt from a liabinty to such 
an eztravag&nce. In our humble opinion, to go to a 
ball three or four times in the year, is both a rational 
and cheerful amusement for the young of both sexes. 
Bat it is better to become an anabaptist at once, like 
Mins Slugii^ than like some ladies whom we know, to 
waste heart, health and enegy, in a continual pursuit 
of irreclaimable frivolity. 



THE LAZY YOUNG LADY. 

Aa in the bnite ereatkNi, nature has eieated the 
abib, the use of which animal our aoelogisia have 
never been able to discover^— so in the young lady 
ctealaoo we find an anak)goai elaas, whom, from their 
habits^ we denominate the laqr yoong'lady (doanaa 

Tha fad7 yooBg lady was never known la get 



throngfa the pionunciation of an ordinary monosyllable 
in less than thirty seconds. Assuredly she must have 
a wonderful taste for the beauties of language— for 
from her drawl, it is plain nhat she is determined on 
enjoying, as long as she can, every word that she ut- 
ters, just as a prudent economical child sucks his bar- 
ley sugar, instead of biting it to pieces at once. Then 
observe Ihe lazy young lady's attitude. Such a per- 
fect lounge on the very easiest and lowest chair which 
she can^pick out. We verily believe she knows every 
chair in the room by its comparative softness, or pos- 
sibly, (&B we have sometimes thought,) she may have 
been born with an intuitive power of knowing the 
easiest chair at first sight If it is winter, too, her cheeks 
are always most particularly red, from her custom of 
dragging the said chair as near the fire as possible, 
and sitting there for hours, with her feet on the fen- 
der, buried in huge worsted shoes, which remind you 
of the north pole and Captain Ross. 

The lazy young lady is sometimes thin, and some- 
times fat, but generally the latter. On any sudden 
concussion, her cheeks will shiver like a jelly. If 
you will believe her, she always has a headache— but 
for our own part, we strongly suspect that this head- 
ache is very often a pure invention to gmtify hei^lazy 
propensities. It is quite delightful to hear her coUo* 
quies with ** mamma " ** My dear, run aiid tell Betty 
that I want her directly." *' Hadn't I better ring the 
bell, mamma 7" says the lazy young lady. . '* No, my 
dear, yen' know that your uncle Toin is ill, and the 
bell m^ght wake him — go yourself" " Yes, mamma,*' 
drawls the lazy young lady, and drags herself along 
to 'the door, at the late of the minute-hand of her own 
watch. At the door, however, her resolution to go 
all the way to Betty, (who perhaps may be up stairs 
making the beds,)* fails her completely. To mount 
those pyramid ical stairs is too awful a prospect. Ac- 
cordingly, she stops at the bottom, and bawls out as 
loud as she can, '* Betty, Betty, mamma wants you— 
make hasie." 'Tis done ; she crawls back, like an old 
woman of a hundred, to her easy chair, and flings 
herself down, in a most terrible state of fatigue from 
her late exertions. 

^ Presently the clock strikes eleven. ** Now, my 
dear." says mamma, *' go and practice." " The clock 
on the stairs hasn't struck yet," says the lazy young 
lady. At last the clock on the stairs strikes. The 
lazy young lady makes two eflbrts to rise from her 
chair without success. One would think that some 
invisible power held her back. " Oh, mamma," she 
cries out at length, " mayn't I put off practising till 
twelve! It will do just as well" " No, my dear," 
says mamma, who knows perfectly well, from ex- 
perience, how cunning the lazy young lady can be 
when she wants to put off business ; ** No, my dear, 
go at once." The lazy young lady waddles off at 
this authoritative admonition, casting many a wistful 
glance backwards at the easy chair. You hear her 
sigh as she opens the door, which she closes with a 
bang, to save trouble If you listen sharply, you will 
now hear heavy feet dragging slowly up stairs. Pre- 
sently a low monotonous aoond comes through the 
oeiliBg from the alndy, as of somebody piMMasing on 



9S 



THB GBNTLmiCAN'S MAOAZINE. 



Hi* piano ibrte. At first, it U tolerably quick. Alio* 
fioi periMps, but never presto. From allegro, it eub- 
( in a few minutes to allegretto, and so to andante, 
listens with painful attention. What can 
be the matter? 'Mow only two or three notes are 
faaard at wide interTals. Now the music has stop- 
pad altogether. Up jumps mamma, and is met ai 
Ibe door by the lazy yoang lady returning from her 
practising. ** What's this. Amelia 7" says mamma; 
'•you havn*t been practising ten minutes!" **1 
ihougbt it was an hour/' aaya the lazy young lady, •* 1 



am §0 tired, mamma ; I really can't practice any mora 
now. By this time she has reached the fire. The 
easy chair is loo tempting. Down she flops, and n- 
mains there in the same position till she is forced lo 
go and' dress fui dinner. By the time dinner is half 
over she comes bark. Every thing is cold. Papa 
ueo\dr, mamma frowns, brothers frown, and call her 
"lag last." *' Why can't you. be quicker f says 
mamma. '* Reully, mamma," says the lazy young Isdy, 
" 1 came as quick as I could. I ran all the way dowa 
stairs." Qon 



THE PANTHEON 



Amo» Vasia, IfioerM, Cetwi Diana, Venus, Mus, Merourias, Neptaons, Japittr. ▼ttleanai, Apolto. ^Enniu*. 



No. 5, 
NEPTUNE. 



Homer, 



Ipse tridmte sno percutrit ; at ilia 
Lauvmeot, moiuquc unus patelccit aqoarom. 

Ovid. 



Goi> of the fearful trident ! On thy brow 

Sits awful majesty as on a throne; 
That makes the ocean's myriad monsters bow 

In low obeisance, thy great power te own ; 
And brings the gentler dwellers of the brine, 
Whose light ami graceTul Hgurci far outshine 
Earth's fairest forms, to sport and gambol round, 
By mingled love and foar, and pleasing wonder 
bound. 

Lord of the boundless wayes,^eepotent dread ! 

From pole to pole, through every varying zone, 
Thy mighty liquid empire is outspread. 

Immeasurable, matchless, and alone : 
The sea obeys thee, and, at thy command, 
Is calm or troublous ; and the trembling land, 
Smit by the mace of thy dread sovereignty, 
Earth shaking Neptune, owns its fealty to thee 

When doud and tempest, and (he darfc-brow'd storm 
Sweep o'er the sea; when mountain billows curl'd, 
With deep-ploughed wrinkles do its face deform. 
And ocean's voice ia heard aiouad the world ; 
Amid the roar of elemental war, 
la seen, convolved in wave and foan, thy caiv 
With axle thundering up the watery aieep 
QC iVMifiMm iMaid lMn<th««iuAii«d 4tap« 



Upon the fa^reaounding whirl poors verge, 

Its fearful course thy circling chariot wheels. 
And sports amid- the eddies, while the surge 
Now streams aloft, now ihc abyss reveals, 
Deep yawning to engulph its fated prey; 
And the loss'd bark, enveloped 'mid the spray, 
With all her howling mariners, goes down 
Where wrecks and bones proclaim thy terrible re* 
nown. 

These are thy awful works — the cruel sport 
Of thy tremendous majesty, when wrath. 
Of (lower omnipotent, assumes the port. 

And wreck and ruin sirew thy direful path : 
But thou canst lay, great ruler of the sea, 
Tliy sterner atlriUuies aside, and be 
Of brow, smooih-as the mirror of the deep. 
When wind and tide are hushed, and waves all tran* 
quil sleep. 

*When not a wave appears at eventide, 

Save from ihe pawing'of thy courser's feet. 
With queenly Amphitrite by thy side. 

On the still waters glides thy chariot fleet ; 
Whilo biform shapes are summoned by Ihe shell 
Of Triton, winding through each crystal dell; 
And brawny hands bear up the almodine, 
And pearl and emerald atone, as gifts to ocean's 
queen: 

Remote from storms, where adamantine walls 

Fling their far-flashing radiance on the wave, 
Thou hold'st thy court in ocean's glittering halls. 

Where goM and shells bestrew the snowy pava » 
There, smitten by the raooobearos' silver light. 
The waten are both musical and bright. 
And, to their tune, round the sea-throne advance 
Naiaif aod Trium^ their Mghl footatapa in the danae^ 



L I F B. 



b& 



LIFE. 



i 



BT WALTB& LANDOR, ESQ. PHILADELPHIA. 



"Man," nj9 Sir Thomas Biowd, "ji a noble ani- 
nal ! tplendid in ashea, glorioua in the grave ; aolemn- 
iaog oatiTitiee and fonerala ^ith equal lustre, and 
ool foigetlinf ceremonies of bravery in the infamy of 
hii nature 1'^ Thus spake one who mocked, while he 
wept, at man's estate, and gracefully tempered the 
high scoffings of philosophy with the profound com- 
pusion of religion. As the sun's proudest moment it 
his latest, and as the ibrest puts on its brightest robe 
10 die in, -so does man summon ostentation to inyest 
ihe hour of his weakness, and pride surrives when 
power has departed; and what, we may ask, does this 
imtinctive contempt for the honors of the dei^d pro- 
daim, except the utter vanity of the glories of the 
living? for mean indeed must be the real state of 
man, and false as the promises of hell the vast as- 
mmptions of his life, when the poorest pageantry of 
a decent burial strikes upon the heart as a mockery 
of helpleasneas. Certain it is that pomp chiefly waits 
vpon the beginning and the end of life ; what lies 
between, may either raise a sigh or wake a laugb, for 
it mostly partakes of the bitterness of one and the 
isdneis of the other. 

Lire is like a night-mare dream in the after dinner 
deep of a demon, in which an image of heaven is 
interrupted by a vision of hell; a thought of bliss 
Itraaks off to give place to a fancy of horror, and the 
&tg:men1s of happiness and discomfort lie mingled 
together in a confusion which would be ridiculous 
if it were not awfiil. The monuments of man's bless- 
ednem and of man's wretchedness lie side by side ; 
we cannot look for one without disoovering the other. 
The echo of joy is the moan of despair, and the cry 
of aogniih is stifled in rejoicing. To make a monarch, 
there most be slaves, and that one may triumph, many 
moit be weak. 

" Who is married ?" said the gay and thoughtless 
, as ehe took up that important chronicle of 
I events, the daily paper. •• Married, on Wed- 
Bttday morning, at the residence of her father, in 
Wiltshire, the Honorable Lady Charlotte Howard, to 
CipUin Beauelerk, of the Royal Navy ;" and the 
reader passed on. 

Six 'months afterwards the servant put into the 
nine hands the same gazette. ** Who is dead T" said 
^ fair querist, as she opened the expansive pages. 
"Died, on Wednesday morning, at the residence of 
her hosband, in Wiltshire, the Honorable Lady Char- 
lie fieanclerk, in the 21st year of her age ;" and the 
reader passed on. 

This did the world notice and forget the two 
mots : yet in the simple record of that marriage and 

VOfc.lU. B 



that burial, there resided what might startle I the vo- 
luptuary in the rankoess of his lust, and wh«t the 
hermit might ponder in the loneliness of his ^ cell. I 
was at the house of feasting and at th» hpuse of 
mourning. I saw the bride in the spring-blosA>m of ^ 
her loveliness, and beheld the narrow coffin that 
housed her till eternity. 

The pamter who searches earth and heaven for 
shapes of beauty fo invest the loved Madoima of hia 
toil, is not visited in his twilight musings by fkce 
more exquisite than was hers. An Anb, had he 
found her by a fountain in the desert, would have 
bowed in speechlees wonder; ho would have en- 
shrined her delicately in a crystal niche, and oflered 
his daily worship to the image, and never thought o/ 
love~-«he was so fair. 

With the fortunes of one who was rich in all that 
makes life enviable, she was about to mingle the 
gentle current of iier fate, blessing and to be blessed. 
Around the scene of her bridal, as it now rises be- 
fore me, there seemed to float, as it were, an atmos- 
phere of delight^ a perfume of happiness shed from 
the bright object who was the marvel of the time. As 
she stood before the priest, in her father's ancestral 
hall, in the elegant timidity of patrician refinement,' 
surrounded by tho high-born and the illustrious, fancy 
could not picture a being more favored, or a destiny 
more brilliant. Her glance was a memory of joys; 
her smiles a prophecy of bliss. Long and cloudless 
must be the summer-day that waits on a morning so 
splendid as this! 

A few months afterwards I had returned from a 
short tour to the continent, and without stopping in 
the metropolis, I wont down to fulfil an engagement 
which I had made to visit the young couple in the 
country. I loft the load a few miles from the house, 
and walked over the fields, for the day was delight- 
ful, and the rural scene showed full of charms. When 
I reached the park, I met an old servant of the family 
whom I had long remembered. " Well, John," said 
T, " and how is your young mistress." "^ am grieved 
to say, sir," said the old man, in a husky voice, and a 
tear gathering in his eye, " I am grieved to say, sir, 
that she died last nigbt." '* Died !" cried I, in utter 
amazement, almost staggering with the shock, and 
overcome with a sickness of heart which I cannot de- 
scribe. *'Good God! can life never Uunder into 
satisfaction? This incessant tale of disappointment 
is astory too commonphiced to be listened— too regular 
to be believed !" 

It was a brief and ordinary tale of life and death ,* 
but brief and common as it was, it started iMliogs 



30 



THE GBNTLBMAN S MAGAZINE. 



which philosophy could not compose^ and waked 
thought! vrhMh religion henslf but dubiooaly re- 
»lTed. 

There u a moral to this history of lire, which no. 
language has yet been able to bring out, and whidh, 
perhaps, no mind will ever be capable of embracing 
in its follness. All our remarks, though struck out of 
the heart by impetuous anguish, sink in expression to 
the merest common-place. The sage explores the 
realms of thought, and the poet dives in the remotest 
depths of language, for adequate reflections, and they 
both come back to the simplest dialect of the street, as 
being all ihey can say. A grief falls upon us, whose 
magnitude, we think, might shake the world, and our 
fullest comment is a shake of the head or a motion of 
the hand. 

I stood in the abbey when the coffin of the third 
George was bone to its narrow vault. The longest 
and the brightest reign recorded in any annals was 
concluded ; all that could elevate and bless humanity, 
in the tributes of power, the offerings of wealth, the 
esteem of the wise, and the aflection of the good, had 
wailed on his life ; and to dignify the closing scene, 
prince and peer, the lords of genius and the ministei* 
of virtue were assembled in the imposing pomp of 
power and the majestic splendor of distinction. Yet, 
with all, how ordinary was that life and how ordinary 
was that character ! Focus of all the brightest rays 
that permeate the universe, he trod (he common earth, 
a common man. To my thought, this history of a 
great good man, this record of power used and not 
abused, of merit always rewarded, excellence alnayi) 
protected, talent always fostered, and religion always 
respected, spoke a profounder commentary upon the 
Qtt^ vanity of life than the glaring failures of a Charles 
or a Boabdil. T had pondered these things, and was 
now gazing on the mockery of the funeral pageant, 
and knew that a knell was then sounding throughout 
England which would arrest the steps of the thought- 
ful, and melt the hearts of the feeling; yet what rould 
I say, what could I even feel, commenauraie with 
the demand of the scene ? 

I s!ood by chance ot a window in London, and saw 
the remains of Lord Byron pass by on their way to 
the parish church yard. He who had spurned all 
accepted usage, and sedulously scorned established 
habit, was borne along like tho humblest citizen to 
rest in an obscure grave, like the lowest peasant of 
the fields. He whoso temper had defied a nation, 
and whose genius had held high war with truih and 
virtue, and come from the contest not ingloriously, 
was jolting along the street like the carcase of a dog; 
and what could man do f 

It is recorded of both Merlin and Zoroaster, that as 
soon as they were born they burst into a fit of laugh- 
ter— tho quack and the philosopher. And in sooth 
the world seems to be but a material sneer. Of God 
considered purely as Creator, every act and motion 
must be creative; I imagine that a smile awoke the 
angels from nothingness, and that man was laughed 
into being. Life seems perpetually burlesquing itself, 
and one half of existence is a running parody on the 



other. On the stage the farce succeeds the tragedy ; 
off, they are mingled in alternate scenes. 

To one limiting his belief within the bounds of his 
observation, and " reasoning" but from what he 
"knows," the condition of man presents mysteries 
which thought cannot explain. The dignity and the 
destiny of man seem utterly at variance. He tnma 
from contemplating a monument of genius to inquire 
for the genius which produced it, and finds that while 
the work has survived, the workman has perished fi>r 
ages. The meanest work of man outlives the noblest 
woik of God. The sculptures of Phidias endare, 
where the dust of the artist has vanished from the 
earth. Man can immortalize all things but himself. 

But, for my own part, I cannot help (hinking that 
our high estimation of ourselves is the grand error in 
our account. Surely, it is argued, a creature so in- 
geniously fashioned and so bountifully furnished, has 
not been created but for lofty ends. But cast your 
eye on the humblest rose of the garden, and it may 
teach a wiser lesMm. There you behold contrivanoe 
and ornament — in every leaf the finest veins, the most 
delicate odor, and a perfume exquisite beyond imita- 
tion ; yet all this is but a toy — a plaything of nature ; and 
surely she whose resources are so boundless that upon 
the gaud of a summer day she can throw away such 
lavish wealth, steps not beyond her commonest toil 
when she forms of the dust a living man. When 
will man learn the lesson of his own insignificance ? 

Immortal man! thy blood flows freely and fully* 
and thou standest a Napoleon; thou reclinest a Shake- 
peare.! it quickens its movement, and thou liest a 
parched and (retful thing, with thy mind furied by 
the phantoms of fever ! it retards its action but a 
little, and thou crawlest a crouching, soulless mass, 
the bright world a blank dead vision to thine eye. 
Verily, O man, thou art a glorious and godlike being! 

Tell life's proudest tale ; what is it ? a few attempU 
successless; a fe'w crushed or mouldered hopes; much 
paltry fretting; -a little sleep, and the story is con- 
cluded ; the curtain falls — the farce is over. 

The world is not a place to live in, but to die in. 
It is a house that has but two chambers ; a lazar and 
a chamel — ^reom vales for the dying and the dead. 
There is not a spot on the broad earth on which man 
can plant his foot and afiirm with confidence, " no 
mortal sleeps beneath!" 

Seeing then that these things are, what shall we 
say ? Shall we exclaim with tho gay- hearted Gre- 
cian, "Drink to-day, for to-morrow ue are not?" 
Shall we calmly float down the ^current, smiling if 
we can, silent when we must, lulling cares to sleep 
by the music of gentle enjoyment, and passing dream- 
like through a land of dreams f No ! dreamlike as is 
our life, there is in it one reality — our ddtf. Let us 
cling to that, and distress may overwhelm but cannot 
distress us — may destroy but cannot hurt us ; the bit- 
temese of earthly things, and the shortness of earthly 
life will cease to be evils, and begin to be blessings. 
" £beu ! Tbgaces, Posthume. Poslhume labuntra unni !'* 
says the Roman. But there is n^^'Eheu!" to the 
Christian. 

Digitized by VjOOQiC 



LEAYES FROM MT JOU&NAC. 



31 



liEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL 



SY AN OFVIOIK 1 If THI U. 0. NATT. 



No. 1. 



MONTEVIDEO. 



The harbor of Monlc video u open lo the touih- 
w»d» and entirely exposed to the full action of the 
only two winda (S. E. and S. W.) which are of much 
violence, and which are often productiye of great in- 
jury to the ahipping in the harbor. The south-west 
wind, or, as it is here called, the Pampero, from iis 
sweepmg over the vast plains or Pampas, on which it 
meets no resistance, and like the avalanche " virus 
accreseit eundo," blows with an irresistible force full 
into the harbor. It, however, usually gives fair 
warning of its approach, and a person accustomed to 
it can always be prepared to meot it. Then you 
may see the light spars of the men-of-war coming 
down^the top gallant masts housed and another 
anchor dropiie^ ahead. Thopgh very violent, it lasts 
but for a short time. 

On the western side of the harbor is the Mount— 
the true MonteTideo— the real and old Spanish name 
of the town being San Felipe. On the Mount is an 
excellent light-house, which is kept in very good 
srder by the government. 

Montevideo was formerly surrounded by a very 
strong wall, which has been pulled down, however, 
in compliance with the treaty with Brazil. 

Bat we have been in the harbor long enough. Let 
us go ashore ; the boat is alongside, and much sport is 
waiting for ns on terra firma. The first place that 
you will stop at, if yon be American or English, rest 
Bssured, is the hotel — the steamboat hotel-^with jast 
ioch a sign over the door as we see at our ferries ; 
sod well it may be, for the steamboat they had (they 
have not got, it now, as they could not support it) 
would barely obtain admission among our ferry boats. 
The keeper of this hotel is an American, who for- 
merly was in business in Buenos Ay res ; by a revolu- 
tion, however, of fortune's wheel, here he is: he 
ought to be called woodcock, for he is certainly 
" known by the length of his bill," (excuse my draw- 
ing on Joe Miller.) The house is as dirty as are the 
booses generally, here, and abounds in myriads of 
"pulgas,'* a very gay and lively little insect, which 
floorishea here. But as I do not stop here, let us see 
something of the phice and inhabitants. The older 
hoosea are mostly one story, built in the Moorish 
style, with flat roois. The booses that have been 
erected of late years, are some two stories, and, in a 
few instancce, even reach to three. The windows 
are all barred, like those of a jail, and behind the 



bars, like birds in a cage, sit the lovely tenoritoB, 
They are very partial to foreigners, and it is a Buttter 
of great ease to make their acquaintance, and obtain 
admission to their houses. Their nsoal exclamatioii 
of surprise, and, in fact, one which comes out on all 
occasions, as it were involuntarily, is "Jesuif* not 
pronounced as by us barbarinnit but in the soft and 
melodious tone which their language alone can giv« 
it. Are they surprised ? out comes Jesus/ are thef 
pleased ? the same. By the way, I recollect, at a baD. 
given on board the American flag ship, at which all 
the pretty creatures attended, (and on which occasion 
there was a considerable swell in the harbor, and. 
much motion in the ship,} it took some lime to accna- 
torn their stomachs to the unusual motion, and much 
sea sickness was suflTered before that happy end waa 
reached. I was walking the deck with a lovely little 
Spaniard, who, to all appearance, was as well aa 
could be — she was laughing, talking, and flirting 
away, the gayest of the gay, when " a change came 
o*er the spirit of her dream" — "Jesut! " she exclaimed, 
with a most woful expression of face, and bolted for 
the cabin. Nature was the quickest, however, and 
reached there before her. 

One peculiarity they have, which ii rery disagree- 
able, to wit : the habit of allowing coat after coat of 
dirt to accumulate upon their hands.^ They bestow 
much care upon their busts, of which they are yetf 
proud, and with reason, and salisBed therewith, they 
let their hands take care of themselves, and at timea 
they are really disgusting; they appear to be perfecdy 
unconscious that it i^ not " comma il faut ;" and how 
the little angels eat ! — ma conscience ! 

The Hospital of Charity is an institution which 
would do credit to any nation, and unlike most public 
buildings in this country, is kept in a state of the 
neatest order and cleanliness. In the sick department 
the greatest attention was paid, to the comfort of the 
patients, who all (among them were two Americans) 
expressed their satisfaction al the treatment they n* 
ceived. 

Connected with this building i^ the Foundling 
Hospital. Here every thing was in the same orders— 
the children were clean and healthy; the males, when 
they are twelve years old, are bound out to diflerent 
trades; and the females, at the age of sixteen, are 
usually put to service. On the sBaU door, which is 
opened to deposit tbeoe children in the basket, ia lh» 



32 



TUS «B]fTLBKAN'0 MAOAZIHB. 



ibUowing imcription in Spaniih and Latin:—- "My 
lather and my mother deaertad me, bot the Lord 
took me in." I came away much gratified by my 

In the electioDi in the republic of Montevideo* or 
more properly the Banda Oriental, a representative is 
sent to the legislature for every 3,500 inhabitants. 
They have a President, and the President of the 
Honse of Representatives is, in the absence of the 
President fiom town. President pro. tem. of the re- 
]Niblic. 

The country aroond Montevideo is very picturesque 
and beantiftaL Most of the inhabitants — in fact, all 



who can afibrd it, live in the country during the hot 
weather. In every direction are scattered qmniu, 
which are located in the best possible spots, and are 
beautiAiUy set off by the surrounding hills. 

In winter, however, they all but live on dancing. 
All over the town is heard, every night, the sound of 
the piano— and waltscs, minuets, and eaiUroFtUmmM 
fill up the time till midnight. 

Gamblingji carried to the greatest excess here, and 
the pauion is so strong among the natives, that even 
on the night before his execution, almost every con- 
demned prisoner passes the last moments of his life in 
indulging in this pernicious practice. 



T O 



'WiL'C thou weep, bright one, o*er my blasted fame ; 

Wilt thon weep o'er the fallen one ; 
WHt diou shed one tear for the once loved name, 

When its glory all is gone ? 

When the venom*d hiss of the sland'rous tongue 

Shall emit its withering blight 
On those scenes of love which around thee hung, 

In the gush of thy youth's deb'ght. 

When the friends that lov'd shall have turned away 

From the soom'd and hated thing ; 
When the cherish*d ones of our sun-bright day 

Are aloof and sorrowing. 

When the world is cold, and the dark clouds lower. 

And hope is well nigh spent, 
WHt thou come, like rain to a withering flower. 

Or an angel of mercy sent . 



I To the prison cell of the fallen one. 
In the hush of his midnight deep, 
Like the last bright ray of a spring-tide sun, 
Wilt thou come to him and weep f 

Oh, come, lest the closing scene be near— 

Lest the last faint sigh be sped — 
Lest the tones which thou lov'dst — f o sweet— sodear— 

Be the tones of the voiceless dead ! 

Come, ere the soul shall have wing'd its flight 

Away to the land of the blest— 
Away to the world of pure delight, 

Where the weary are at rest. 

Where the scourg'd and scathed child of earth 

Finds a home in the joyous land ; 
Where jhe spirits of pure and heavenly birth 

All bright in their glory stand ! 
Columbia, Ps. ALP. 



THE DRUNKARD'S BOY 



Cbme hither boy— and let me dwell 

Upon thy cloudless brow. 
Ere sonow breaks the golden spell 

Which hangs around thee now. 

I wonld not quench, within thy breast. 
The joys that sparkle there ; 

Hot yet disturb thy infant rest 
With tale of gathering care. 

Bat pity oannit check the sigh, 
Trti^ that eoming jmm, 



With darkening clouds, will dim thy dsy 
And strew thy path with tears. 

And that, when other boys may share, 

Perhaps their father's fame, 
Thy manly brow will blush to bear 

A drunken father's shame. 

There now, with thy oompankm^ g<^— 

I would not check thy joy ; 
TVosooii die isofid will let thee kaoml^ 

Thou art a DnmAflrcTe Boy. 

R.W. 



A«NB8 BBAVXOMT. 



33 



AGNES BEAUMONT. 



There wm b leeond litter, who might witch 
An angel flvm his hymn. Icnrnottell 
The teeret of her beauty. It is mora 
Than her slight penciHed Up, and the arch ere 
LragliingbeBe«OiitabMhea,asiflilh 
Were nothing but a merry mask— Hit more 
Than muiie, though her Yoiee it Bke a i«cd 
rn by a low touth wIimI. 



Blown by a 



N. p, muu. 



CHAPTER I. ^ 

THE PAOMENADB. 

Jcq. An the worid^ a stage, 

And all the men and women merely playen. 

On the steps of the M&nhall Hoiue, one bright 
morniog In May, atood a whole poaae of dandies. The 
weather for several days had been unusually stormy; 
and the ladies were now pouring along smiling and 
ehalUng, the younger portion looiting timidly up at 
the crowd of young men* and as quickly dropping 
their gaze and passing whispering on. 

" Johnson !" suddenly exclaimed a fashionable young 
Ottn fiom the portico. 

The person addressed hastily turned, paused a 
moment irresolutely, and frankly extending his hand, 
nid, "Tremom — my dear fellow!— but when did you 
arrive r 

For a few moments the young men exchanged the 
waraiest greetings. They had been schoolmates and 
h«i not met for years ; but their thoughts gradually 
huneJ to the present, and, aAer a few bright sallies, 
he said, 

"Bat come, skall we lounge up the street?'* and 
pottiDg his arm into that of hiir friend, the two young 
men passed carelessly on with the crowd. 

** How difierent yoiTall seem to me. I have been 
io long away, I almost feel myself a stranger." 

" Tou mias the morning promenades of London and 
iks thronged Boulevanls of Paris? Ah! Tremont, we 
niililariana have no time to play the morning gallant. 
Bat once evening, and even Cupid has archery 
enough." 

"Heavens! what a iylph!" ejaculated Tremont, 
without seeming to hear his friend ; " her form would 
giace a fairy's revel !" 

The lady alluded to had just left a shop ahead. The 
ezpreasion of her face, so exquisitely sweet and witch- 
ing, had ri vetted Tremont.. and as she passed up before 
them, her graceful step and full round form might 
have made a less sensitive man enthusiastic. Even 
his companion joined in her pmise. 

" Beantifal ! what new angel can she be ?" 

" Huah,'* said Tremont The lady was jost entering 
■ooiher store. Chance, doubtless, directed her eyes 
^owa the street, and once more that witching look 
ftsrinaled the young man. 



" Oh ! I remember — my wardrobe is sadly deficient 
I want some buff gloves — let's in," and the two friends 
followed her. 

In vain Tremont tried to catch her look again— she 
was too intent upon her purchases. In a few minatea 
they were completed, and she left the store. 

" Slop, madam—here, Charles, run after that yoimg 
lady, she has left her handkerchief/* puflfbd the gruff 
voice of the fat, fatherly storekeeper, as he stomped 
from behind the counter, but no Charles was nigh. 

"Permit me," bowed Tremont, and he took the 
prize from his hands. In an instant he had overtaken 
the loser, and hearing herself addressed, she turned. 
The courtly young mon for once was abashed. Ha 
stammered out, with a low bow, 

" Pardon me, miss, but — ^your handkerchief?" The 
maiden looked, their eyes met, and equally confused 
with himself, she blushed, muttered her thanks, has- 
tily courtesied, and passed on. For a moment he stood 
gazing after her — that last, thrilling blush, shivering 
through every artery in his frame. 

**Has she tamed you to stone, Harry f* said the 
warm voice of Johnson ; " really, Paris has improved 
your manners; your easy addrem would honor the 
Tuilleries— you have the perfect noncfaalaiice of « 
Bond street exquisite !" 

** Pshaw ! who can she be ?" 

" But, you say you wish to see aociety here," said 
Johnson, after a pause ; " nothing is easier. Fve the 
entree of all that's worth a visit and will introdace 
you ; but, talking of society, I must take yon to our 
Literary Set." 

" Indeed! who are they?" 

"Oh! never mind; but what I call oor Literary 
Society, meets soon. Be disengaged that evening. It 
is oomp«J8ed of ladies and gentlemen, all carious Ibc 
novelties, in literature, science or nonsense. I am, 
as Mrs. Jemima Reeves says, ' often chief purveyor to 
their woracily.' You must think it a compliment, ftc 
I intend to exhibit yon as a rare spectmen^-the twenty- 
first wonder of the world — the learned traveller, whe 
has shot bears near the North Pole, end been at the 
levees of the Cham of Tartary. No remonttrano»« 
pat aside your hate to be lionized, and roar for once.'' 

Their spirits were now high. They joked, langhed* 
praised, and satirized in turns. The tricks and ploCa 
of school, the glorious rows at college, the student's 
office, and the varied five years sinoe cnmdad on 



34 



THE GENTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



ihma, and they adjoarned to dinner at Tremont's room. 
The wine was brought op, and deepite the Temperance 
Society) they did not part till the stars were glistening 
in the sky. 

Henry Tremont was a young man of fine talents and 
ample fortune. Possessed of a warm heart> and a capa- 
city for present enjoyment, which made him enter as 
if natarally, into the feelings of his passing associates, 
he had seen, on terms of equality, mankind in all its 
phases. He had moved one hour, in the magnificeni 
courts of Europe, or gazed upon the merry peasantry 
sui they danced by theXoire. He had seen the Greek 
amid his ruins, and the Cossack as he swept over the 
Ukraine. From all these he had returned wiih suffi- 
cient knowledge of the human character, and his so- 
journ at London had made him, in the language of 
ton, a polished gentleman. Perhaps he aficcted too 
much of the elegante, but if he did, it was only the 
easier to command the entrances to society. He was 
a philosopher, and be was a roan of the world. 

" And where is your nymph — ^still invisible," jocu- 
larly said Johnson, as he met his friend before the 
Hall of Independence; " come, this is the very grove 
lor the deities of the fore«t->have you watched ' 'till 
the pale stars are up?' " 

Tremont smiled, launched a repartee in reply, and 
ihey sauntered on. 

Despite the society he mingled in slhco his arrival, 
and the many fair faces that smiled on the elegant 
young stranger, he had thought only of one. To many 
it might seem unaccountable. But Tremont was sick 
of your monotonous fashionable beauty. He longed 
ibr something more than mere too and affectation. 
Although in the whirl of dissipation, iTe was not one 
of them. His mind was cast in a loftier mould, and 
he thirsted for communion with some better spirit- 
And that beautiful Greek face with its blue laughing 
eyes, the light auburn hair, and the flush stealing over 
it— it seemed, in its expression, the very incarnation 
of his dreams. We cannot define it, but we all have 
imagined it Perhaps it came nearer to refined mo- 
desty and purity than to any thing else. 

It had its effect on Tremont He thought more of 
it than he admitted to himself. It went to bis heart, 
Ibr despite his fashion he had still a heart. The ice 
-of thd world might be crusted over it, but the warm 
tide still flowed below. 

A week passed by. He looked every where for 
that face, but in vain. It seemed as if he had only 
aeen it~to lose it forever. 



CHAPTER II. 

TM LITEHARV 80C1ETT. 

Most learned Theban I 

Lear, 

Mrs. Jemima Rceveb was the very essence of vul- 
garism, but she was the wife of a millionaire, whose 
fortune had been made by speculating in stocks, and 
though ignorant and pretending, she was the oracle 



of her set Here parties were no unapt represeDtations 
of our society. From th^ rapidity with which fortunes 
are made and lost, a party in a commercial city is a 
motley thing — a little world, where bad and indiffer- 
ent, the ignorant, rich, and the fastidious literati are 
jostled in the same noisy crowd. Such was the com- 
pany which usually met at Mrs. Jemima Reevea. 
But, this evening, it possessed another characteristic 
Literature and the Belle Lettres had just become 
fashionable, to the utter destruction of balls, and the 
manifest terror of concerts ; and Mrs. Jemima Reeves, 
ever desirous of leading, had introduced a sort of li- 
terary Society, through - which their superabundant 
intellect, like cream, might find a vent It met every 
fortnight, at the residence -of one of the members alter- 
nately. They read ; they conversed on science and 
the arts, metaphysics, and cookery; in short, on every 
thing. They heard lectures from ambitious volunteers, 
and sometimes ended with a song. Besides, the mem- 
bers, as was natural, were mostly young men in cra- 
vats and young ladies who wrote poetry. They met 
merely to cultivate the sciences. No one could insi- 
nuate any other motive; but, most unaccountably, 
several ef the early members were already married, 
and, to the surprise of all, sundry tender words had 
fallen from the lips of one very backward and erudite 
philosopher, and a remarkably bashful miss had actu- 
ally been caught looking bewitchingly at the said 
innocent young man. These things were all very 
singular, and, as Mrs. Jemima Reeves remarked, ' as- 
tonishingly metaphysical.' No one could tell the 
result But cause followed effect, and Johnson drily 
whispered that they ought, in future, to be called the 
society for the promotion of marriages ! 

" Reelly, why don't they come ?" said Mrs. Jemima 
Reeves ; •' oh f sich a wonder as Mr. Johnson brings,"" 
and, as for the first time, she broached this news, (she 
had been fidgetting all the evening to tell it,) she 
looked with an air of triumph on the crowd. 

Now as Mrs. Jemima ReeVes gave splendid parties, 
every body flocked to her hous^. But the intelligent 
portion of her company had formed a coterie by them- 
selves, while she sat, like a queen, in the centre of 
her immediate set There was Angelina Tompkins, 
a profound female geologist, like her patroness ; and, 
leaning on her chair, was the admired and poetic 
Stevens, whose venes " To a Tom-til," had actually 
been published in the Juvenile Repository. Then 
there was the stiff and starch Miss Snddgrass, a very 
enchanting young lady of forty- three, who kept a 
baby-house, and seemed not unlike a slim radish in 
appearance. She was in raptores with music, and 
smiling and coquetting with a lath-like gentleman, 
now falling into the sere and yellow leaf. He, too, 
was bowing, and writhing his features into a ghastly 
smile, entreating her " To sing that charming thing 
a^ain, 

< Young I am, and sore afraid.* 

She warbled it so naturally." 

Besides these, there were some dozen others equally 
talented and interesting in their way. Coquettes and 
flirts, philosophers in bodices, and legislators in curls. 



AGNES BEAUMONT 



35 



There were some with much learning, and some with 
Done at all ; and, at the end of the group, elegantly 
reclining against the mantle, stood Master Edward 
de Vere, who wore his shirt collar down, wrote 
gloomy verses a la Byron, and was dying for love of 
Mias Lncretia Thompson, a romantic girl of sweet 
sixteen, who wept over Lallah Rookh, and lisped of 
the cold and heartless world. 

"Oh! sich a wonder," repeated the hostess. She 
was answered by a dozen voices, exclaiming, " Who f 
who is it? <{o tell." 

" And he's travelled over half the world," echoed 
MissTomkins, as her patronesi proceeded to unburden 
her information, and eulogize the much expected Tre- 
Bont 

" I wonder if he*s a good collection of foreign spe- 
cimens," said' Miss Tomkins, glancing at a splendid 
cabinet of minerals, the joint properly of her patroness 
and herself, which, rising in a recess, gave a wonder 
fully scientific atmosphere to the whole apartment 

** Mr. Tremont," shouted the servant at the door, 
and amid a buzz of voices, the fashionable young man, 
following his friend, advanced. With an easy address 
he paid his respects to the lady of the house. 

The society was now organized, Mr. Johnson taking 
the chair: and, while the members were reading 
essays, Tremont found himself between the two geo- 
logists. There were several disquisitions on philoso- 
phy ; one declaimed and another read ; and blushing 
deeply at his own temerity. Master Edward begged 
to recite a few original verses. They were on a 
lady's eyebrow. As he became inspired with his 
theme, his voice melted into the soAest tenderness, 
and, with a"" truly bewitching look, he rolled his eyes 
an Miss Lucretia Thompson. Any one could see 
whose eyebrow he meant. She turned to her bosom 
friend and lisped, 
" Ithn't he divine ?" . 
" Sich a love," echoed the confidante. 
" He'll surely be a Byron, Mr. Tremont," whispered 
Mrs. Jemima Reeves ; " he has all that lyric tender- 
ness which distinguishes the noble lord fr&m the dark 
and turbid passion of Tom Moore." 

Johnson looked up, and his mouth was quivering 
with suppressed laughter. 

The communications were now over — Mr. Stevens 
disdainiag to bring his poetry into competition with 
that of Master Edward. The company rose to pro- 
menade, and Tremont could but select his two neigh- 
bofs. 

Mrs. Jemima Reeves was now in ecstasies. She 
had secured the attention of Tremont, and she deter- 
mined on exerting her eloquence and displaying her 
extensive information. 

''Tou must be charmed with London, Mr. Tremont — 
its society is so exclusive. Here we have no refine- 
ment, except," said she, glancing significantly at her 
self, ** exoept among a few." 

'*Bat is not our hospitality far better than their 
haoghty reserve!" asked he. 

" La ! now — Mr. Tremont a*n*t you joking ? Ame- 
rican society is so wolgar." She simpered, affecting 
a ftshionable ease, whicli Mist Tomkins thought ex- 



quisite. " I often say to Angelina, we've a great duty 
to perform, to keep up the fashions, you know, and 
perurve the city from actual barbarities." 

*'0h! Edward," lisped Miss Lucretia Thompson, 
overhearing the last word, '* they are talking of Indian 
barbarities, I think; can Mr. Tremont really have 
seen the poor, dear, savage warriors^ in their wild 
forests!" and she leaned eloquently on his arm. 

" And you have been at the apexes of Mount Blanc, 
the giant of the Appenines," exclaimed Mrs. Jemima 
Reeves. " Do tell me if it has any scarce minerals^- 
we are all so scientific here ; when we are better ac- 
quainted, we must overlook your selection— mus'n't 
we, my dear !" said she to Miss Tompkins. 

'* Certainly. Mr. Tremont must be in raptures 
with the delightful science." 

" Yes ; I always said it was the most enchanting 
branch of speculative philosophy, my dear," respond- 
ed she, benignantly. Tremont writhed under the in- 
fliction ; but bis natural politeness triumpbed,^and he 
answered : 

" But I am sorry I cannot gratify you. I have no 
collection." 

" No collection !" cried Mrs. Jemima Reaves ; and 
she turned pale with wonder. 

*'No collection!" echoed Miss Angelina, in a per- 
fect agony of horror. 

«* But," said the patroness, recovering herself, and 
breathing hard, "you're only pretending, Mr. Tre- 
mont : young gentlemen are so modest." 

" I really have none." 

" Oh ! I see it all : so modest, and so witty, Ange- 
lina, my dear .'" smiled Mrs. Jemima Reeves ; for she 
could not believe any young man of fashion to be ^- 
noTant of geology. 

What the thunderstruck Angelina might have an- 
swered, we know not{ but Johnson at this instant 
passed them, and said gaily to his hostess : 

" You promised us your niece, from Baltimore, to- 
night. After your charming description, I dhall die 
if she docs not come !'- and he looked wickedly at 
Tremont 

<' Indeed," said the delighted lady ; " but she can - 
not come till late. You will be in extansies with her, 
Mr Tremont. Her only fault is not to love ' heaven- 
killing philosophy enough,' as the poet Calvin says." 
Tremont shuddered — for, judging from the aunt, what 
must the nieces be ! 

They were now opposite the cabinet, and a group 
had gathered round it; but at the approach of Tre- 
mont, they opened, as if by magic, and in a moment 
he foand himself surrounded. He saw at once his 
situation. He was now common property, and the 
whole bevy poured questions on him. One asked him 
for an Arab song ; another (it was master Edward,) 
wondered if he had been at Haidee^s island — where- 
upon Miss Lucretia blushed, and pinched his arm, ex- 
claiming, " Oh !" while Mr. Stevens inquired of Dante 
and Italy ; and the lath-like gentleman dropped sun- 
dry libels on the peculiarities of Turkish matrimony. 

" And have you actually been at the hvee$ of the 
Cham of Tartary!" lisped Miss Lucretia, summoning 
all her courage. 



36 



THB GBNTLBHAN^S MAGAZINE. 



« And did he ask yoa to look At his cabinet of min* 
erabf chimed in Mn. Jemima Reeves; "what a 
geologist he must be! — so much lime ;" and she look- 
ed smilingly aiound. Her auditors smiled too. This 
bit blunder was beyond even their endurance, and 
Johnson almost suflbcated with suppressed laughter. 

It was a critical moment for Mm. Jemima Reeves ; 
Imt at that instant Tremoni looked up. and opposite to 
him, peeping archly through the crowd, with a face 
alternating with suppressed mirth and vexation, stood 
ffae ftscinating creature of his daily and nightly dreams. 
She did not seem to see him, but playfully said : 

** Have I detained you, aunt V* U was a bold stroke 
to hid6 her relative's ignorance. She turned. 

*'Why, Agnes, where have you been? Sich an 
evening as we've had," and she glanced at Tremont. 
««Bat — Mr. Tremont, shall I introduce you to my 
niece, Miss Beaumont? — Miss Beaoroohi, Mr. Tre 



Agnes followed the direction of her aunt's voice, 
looked up, and met Tremont's astonished, yet delight- 
ed gaze. We cannot tell the look her countenance 
fbr an instant wore. Her eyes sparkled, and then her 
long lashes fell dreamingly over them, while the red 
blood shot over face and temples, dying her neck and 
bust to the heaving bosom. She hastily paid the usual 
compliments, and, scarcely trusting herself to speak, 
turned to find relief in other presentations. Tremont 
was, this time, wholly unabashed. He felt a thrill 
when she first looked up, but none could tell it from 
his manner of addressing her. Glad, however, to es- 
cape from the outrageous aunt, he seized the first op- 
portunity, and stole to Agnes's side. 

-She was certainly as unlike her scientific relative 
as she well could be. Her countenance was fault- 
less, but its beauty consisted most in the expression. It 
might have been one of those mild, sweet faces, which 
inspired Raphael. There was no afiectation. She 
aeemed as distinct in her mind from the every day 
beauty, as she was in feature ; and though at first ap- 
parently reserved, it soon wore ofiT, and her powers, 
unconscious to herself, appeared. Her knowledge 
was' varied, and her taste exquisite ; and after a half 
hour's conversation, Tremont owned to himself that 
he had often seen more brilliant beauties, but never 
io lovely a creature as Agnes Beaumont. 

The conversation turned upon music, and Tremoni 
begged her to sing. They were seated, with a few 
othen of like sentiments, in a coterie by themselves. 
She sat down to the inslrument, and, afler a short pre- 
lude, poured^forth a volume of rich, mellow music, 
such as he never before had Beard but once, from au 
Italian girl, by the rich shores of Como. It was the 
music of the soul. 

In turn, Tremont was pressed to sing, and he com- 
plied. They had talked*T>f Scotland, and Cunning- 
ham's *' Its hame, and its hame," came to his mind. 
His fall tenor voice was admirably fitted to it, and 
his own feelings lent a deeper pathos to that touching 
aong. He looked up when he ceased, and the glisten- 
vag eyes of Agnes spoke her thanks, warmer than the 
pniiM so plentifully heaped on him. 

** Indeed, Mr. Tremont," she said, " you have made 



us ^U traitors to our aensibility : that song has iaipw* 
ed you." 

" Ah ! there is other Inspiration than the aong/' an- 
swered he, as he offered her his arm. She looked: 
down, and, he thought, seemed half displeased. It 
was the first time his flattery had ever iailad. 



CHAPTER III. 



THK BALL- 



Als« ! how ilight s thing will move 
DissensioDs between hearts that lore. 



letta AmJM. 



" It was really too bad, was it!" said Johnson, as 
they sat one day in his office. " it was comedy and 
tragedy; and, Io ! Henry Tremont, Esquire, the im« 
maculate, unconquerable Tremont, whom all the 
fashionables are dying for, is conquered by the niece 
of Mrs. Jemima Reeves, the great conchologist, geo- 
logist, and female professor of all the occult sciences 
under the moun." 

" Pshaw ! nonsense !" responded Tremont, musing. 

" Well, Harry, you are becoming too bad. Eveiy 
body wonders what has become of you. If you don't 
stop sentimentalizing, I must cut you^-that's flat 1" 
said Johnson. 

'* That would be insupportable, my dear fellow. 
What shall we do ?" said Tremont, breaking into hiii 
eld .gayety. 

" Ah I there's returning sense. Let us get down 
the foils." 

Tremont was a constant visitor at Mr. Beaumont's ,- 
but although he daily saw Agnes, he was ignorant 
what progress he had made in her affeetions. She 
was an unfathomable creature. Modest and sensitives 
she would sooner have died than have won attention 
by any of the thousand lures of the practised belle. 
But Tremont was ignorant of this trait, and her con- 
duct perplexed him. She was at rimes reserved and 
almost cold, and he despaired ; but then again a smile 
or a tone would be sufficient to recall all his hopea* 
Had Tremont coolly thought, he would have felt ami 
acted dififerently. But he was in love — and all lovera 
are more or less insane. 

Miss Beaumont had a cousin, the daughter of her 
uncle, with whom she resided. Ellen was a beauti- 
ful and celebrated belle, and it soon began to be whis- 
pered that Tremont was drawn thither by her charms. 
Nor did she discountenance the report ; even had she 
known the truth, she would scarcely have done so. 
She was a coquette ; her vanity was interested in 
conquering the courtly Tremont, and so she tried 
every means to chain him to her. She was besides 
piquant and witty; and Tremont, almost sensibly 
pleased with her vivacity, lingered longer at her Mde. 
To much of this, Agnes was blind. She oilea felt 
pained at Tremont's attentions to her eouain, but she 
could not yet analyze her feelings. She knew her oon- 
sin's heartless character; and, like many othen^ ahe pet* 



'A«NIS BKAVMONT. 



79 



I bcfwirthKt it wMonijf flnndihipk wwCdbmo 
hm m tsent ngrtt fke Mcriftce. Poor thing f ihe 
WW aillM fowlet^ net, aad tiie knew it not. 

And Agne* grew Iom lively. At tinee» toe, when 
Tmmmt had been geiljr nnging with her co»in, the 
fsened eoitieeted OTen cold* He thesght, peroepei 
ahe wn ebesdy etttehed ; and if not, he had a right 
to he eOended. He r e c mi e d to the earlier dayi of 
their intimacy, abd the open, laughing girl which at 
I ahe had aeemed, wai now no more. How blind 
wiU be I TrenMmt was eicellent at trifling, 
aid twoght he knew the female heart; hat even the 
I of ne, when our ftelingi art enlisted, are sofne- 
Bg. Besides, his vanity was piqtied by her 
csnduct, and peihaps it was also flattered by her con- 
■in's. Insensibly be began to laugh and loiter more 
by KUen's side, and, ir might be, that he was flirting 
with die witty and brflliant ooqnette. 

Stifi Agnes wm ignotint ef heisel£ She saw dw 
cbMigie, and wenderedJ At- tines, too, dra theaght 
TVeaoeat laai kind than when they met at first, and in 
tiba BingleaeH of her tegaid, searahed Ibr the canse. 
It aa om e d as if tiba lom of a friend wm a moumfol 
U sliU, at times, Treamnt would appear so 
Bt, that she would heUeTo she had wronged 
What a faihnmlesi histscy an the Udes of ihs 




d the aesson was opened by 

aafdandid baU it Mn. . All that was degant 

in beamy or Ashion, was there. Tremont and EUen 
wasn die elars of the night. The brilliant, dMhing 
haUn, and the easy, elegant yornig man, won oniyer- 
«1 a pp i aw s e . He was piqued at something which 
saemod unusoallf eoM in Agnes ; and, flattered and 
be wil d er e d , he was wilhng for a moment to bow to 
hat lair eonsin. The danoe swept on. He seemed 
in high epiiiia. He was onee more the gay, young 
slnngor of the aabons of Fkris ; and as he and Ellen 
floated by with the daacen, they called ibrth a boia 
flnm Ike admiring crowd. The evening passed on, 
and tfaongh Agnes was surrounded by admife»> she 
kepi wondering why Tremont did not even addrem 
hat ; hnt he seessed wholly taken up vridi Ellen, md 
n sharps nndefinable pang thai Ihrengh Agnai's heart 
SliU she pardoned him ; yet, as it grew later, she 
thoo^it. **snrely ftr friendship's sake, he might have 
daneed ana aet with her." Her appeannce, however, 
ebamiad eqoally with her cemiin*s, and»amid a crowd 
ef attandanta, she seemed to have regained all her 
ftmef^qniet, yet innocent and fimcinating gayety. 
Many a yonng nmn that night wondered at her love- 
liness, and ibr many a long year her voice rung through 

A danee was just coneladed, and, flushed with the 
, Tremont led Ellen to a seat They passed 
a vacant one waa by her, and handing his 
r la it, Tremont, fiw the flnt time that evening, 
I tn Al^M* They all glided, as if natumlly, into 
conversation^ and now surely, thought sha» he wiU 
likme. Bnt ha h i t are d arennd, at times ndd r sna ng 
lMr,andthaB whoUy ooaapied with SUsn, while she 
Ibfhaff 
I bl» la Wraidik 
at 



Mr. IVeBMnt, haw oppesmiva il kk fet 
there no retreat ff'* and she looked langahiiy apw Ba 
oSared her his ana, and ti^ tamed io go. 

** Agace» won't you csaaer aud sba^ as tfaay im». 

" Oertainly, Mim Beaumont," said IVemoBt; bat 9L 
seemed to her sa Ibrmal, that she oenld aoasssly am* 
swer n^ They moved away, Ellen leaning en Tn- 
meal's arm, kokiag g a i li a gly vp^ and his wbsle da* 
meaaor that af the profbandest atteatiea He did not 
onee look back. *' Surely," said Agnes lo hemdf, <« ha 
might, even Ibr tlm sake of fciarishipb Imva givanaw 
a warmer invitation.*' 

'•Ah! Mms Beaomom," lamarioed a gendamai; 
glancing at tlm mliring eeapla, " I see vre shall hava 
to cengratnlate your cousin en Iwr inal conquest.*' 

Agnes scarcely heard him, a light seemed to break 
in apon her, aad the room to awim aroand her ; bafl 
with a Strang eflbft she le e e as r s d , and her fiiiiy flma 
swept through the dance, and her Ihrilling laagh mag 
out like masie. They VMVe the wiU struggles af a 
tortured heart 



CHAPTER IV. 
THS naivE — TBK nmoviiiEsrT. 

Tetonweiwept— Awsj! swaj! 

Maxeppa, . 

That night Agnes Beaumont woke as from a dMan« 
It was almost morning, and the knelt by her bedrida* 
Alone, hi the silent chamber, 4m had read the still 
more silent chamhem of Rar heart She mined her » 
bead, aad the traces of team were on her cheek. 

*< I see it all," she said, ** and that he loves another. 
Oh! that I could have flireeeea thtB--4hat some ana 
had warned me, belore it was too kte^ Oh, God t 
that I should have garnered up my aflbctions, only to 
have them crushed. But," she added, brushing awaj 
her toaia, " thank heaven, it is yet the aecrsC oi mf 
heart, and, though it breahi vrift the eflbrt, iwvar, 
never shall it escape. No; sosmt woaU Agnea 
BeaumDUt die, than have one diaam she lovad hi 
vain." She nee ; and ae aha shosk haak her tressas^ 
there was a moumfutfinnQess on her pale, chissei ie d 
brow, ae she murnMrsdf " It waa a hard s ua g gl e, hnt 
it is over. I will scSodI my very loeka— I will ha av 
though my heart wal light and ha p p y I will miia 
the uttthoughlHif cousin*^! may even be the ksidee* 
maid ; and thea^ when all is over, though it esar liha 
iron, I will banish him iwever from my thoaghCa. 
Even now, it is wrong to diiak of hisn— i may not do 
it Oh! that my sainted mother weald hwk dawn 
upon, and strengthen hsr etving chiM !" She gtaw 
compoeed, nor did she retire till she had saught can- 
iolatifln from that tenlaui which flows ievever §at 



And eweetvfai her sleep thai aight ThaMwaan 
hushed* holy quint en her i 



fimtadaep. ii 



aaif fte vaqpairvaaa] 



38 



THE OBNTLBMAN's MAGAZINE. 



An angel, even on « minion of love, might have lin- 
gered aa he peBwd. 

Tremont, too, that night did not leek hii bed till 
Hie atara were paling in the east So exquisitely had 
JSlIen availed henelf of hie piqae, that, fop aa he 
■eemed, during the whole evening he found himself 
lier prisoner. But he recurred to it with pain. His 
acquaintance with Agnes had opened up a new fount 
in bis character, and he was ashamed of his frivolity. 
What, too, must she think of him ! Either to despise 
Ilia fickleness, or look on him as a hearQesa fop. Be- 
aides, he began more to understand her character. 
What he had deemed the result of coldness or a prior 
attachment, might it not spring from her exquisite 
modesty f He waa perplexed. He almost cursed 
lumself for his conduct that evening, and harassed 
. -with his tumultuous feelings, he threw up the win- 
dow and bathed his burning brow in the cold morn- 
ing breeze. 

It was the day but one after the ball, and Johnson 
«nd Tremont were sitting in Mr, Beaumont's parlor, 
iFvaiting for the cousins to take a drive. They did not 
"wait long. 

"Oh! what restive horses you have, Mr. Tremont," 
■aid Ellen, gazing at a pair of noble animals, who 
■iood impatiently pawing the ground ; " they miui be 
dangerous.*' 

- What does Miss Agnes say ?" said Tremont as she 
entered, looking, as he thought, paler than usual. 
Elleii was disconcerted— she thought Tiemont would 
liave asked her. 

The drive was beautiful. It was a mellow autumn 
day, and not a cloud was in the sky. The fields were 
ooveied with a russet hue; the forest trees were dyed 
in a thousand colors; here and there the leaves began 
to fill], and over the whole landscape streamed a 
golden light, while the fresh, bracing breeze swept 
up, rusaing the dry leaves, and swaying the branches 
liackwards and forwards with a mournful sound. 

It was a day to touch her every feeling, and Agnea 
•eemed to Tremont unusually open. He looked in 
'Win lor her reserve, and aa they drove on, and new 
scenes opened betbre them,.she became unconsciously 
more interested, and the hidden beauUea of her mind 
gleamed fijrth. There was an originality in all she 
■aid, and the soft, meUow tinge of her thoughts con- 
tasted finely with the brilliant emptiness of her cou- 
■in. Tremont, too, enchanted, called forth all his 
poweia, and few men could be more eloquent when 
fliey tried. His manner was totally changed from the 
ftivokMis gallant He woke up the better portion of 
Ilia nature, and Agnes listened and sighed. He was 
•0 like the fiiBt night they had met ! She felt it would 
not do to listen to him thus. She felt how hard a 
character she had iropoaed upon herself. 

And Tremont was again perplexed. He listened 
to Agnes, and as her low, touching tones met his, al- 
Oough tbeyseemed but the passionless ones of friend- 
aiiift he felt that in her all his happiness hung. He 
1^ tortured with doubts; but his feelings wer« gra- 
dually wound up to such an intensity, that he felt a 
Imowledge even of the worst would be better than 
thiatmiettt He resolved to heard all. 



They were now entering a road, which ran among 
lovely summer residences, straight and unusually 
level, and terminated, a ntile beyond, in a rugged, 
precipitous hilL But the two spirited horses began to 
grow restive, and required all Tremont's skill to re- 
strain them. He trembled. Had be been alone, he 
would have been fearless, but what a volume of hope 
and love was bound up in the safety of the lovely 
being beside him! 

" Do you think there is any danger V* she asked. 
It was in a firmer voice than he expected, and he 
was about to answer, but a sportsman, followed by 
his dog suddenly sprang into the load, and aimed 
at a bird directly before them. Tremont knew the 
horses were young, fiery; and scarcely broken. He 
shouted-— 

" For God's sake, put down your gnn !" The man 
was so intent upon his game, that he did not hear 
him, and- fired. In another instant thay wai« whirl- 
ing, like lightning, over the plain. In vain Tremont 
held back ; in vain he exerted all his strength and 
science ; the frightened beasts tore on as if he were a 
child. Heshuddered when he thought of Agnea. Ba| 
he dared not look up, for they were now nearing, with 
the velocity of a ^hiriwind, the broken hill which 
terminated the level road. He knew if they were 
not stopped before they reached it, they would be 
dashed in pieces ; and bracing himseli' firmly up, while 
his heart cniaheil within him, he waited calmly but 
breathlessly ii>c event As they swapt by Ellen and 
Johnson, she screamed, and the horses, starting slightly, 
rushed on with even wilder madness. It seemed bat 
an instant mor*. The hill was just before them— a 
few more seconds and their fate would be decided. 
The moment for energy had come ; he paused an in- 
stant, and suddenly exerting his utmGst strength, al- 
most miraculously succeeded in checking them. They 
faltered, and stood exhausted and trembling. All this 
was the work of an instant, and during it Tremont's 
thoughts were full. But it waa now over, and be 
turned to Agnes. 

During the few brief moments of their rapid career, 
and while expecting instant death, she had sat paler 
than marble, and without uttering a word. But now, 
when they were so unexpectedly saved, in the audden 
revulsion of her feelings, she seemed to foiget every 
thing. Only the deep feelings of her heart were 
heard. She laid her hand on Tremont's arm, and 
unconsciously exclaimed, "Thank heaven, you ue 
saved !" The tone, the look, the geature, all told the 
tale of her love. In that hour she had thought only 
of him. 

She seemed suddenly to feel she had betrayed her- 
self. That which she had cherished so secretly— that 
which, in another moment, she would have died 
rather than reveal, was now confessed— and to one 
who loved another. She felt he would despise her, 
and in utter agony she buried her face in bet bands 
and wept 

But how difl!*erent were Tremont's feelirig"* The 
love he would have given all to win, and which he 
dared not hope for, was unwittingly ackntfowledged. 
Agnes then had loved him. At once, aa in sanligbt, 



T B R 8 E S 



39 



the myetery of her conduct wai revealed. He leaned 
down^ 

** Agnee, dear Agnea, look op !'* whitpered he. 

"Oh! Mr. Tremont, leave me — for the sake of 
mercy, leave me,'* laid the lobbiDg giil. 

Tremont waited till the fint storm of her feelings 
had swept by, and then delicately urged hia suit. M 
be spoke of his love— his hopes and fears — ^and his 
folly, Agnes gradually became convinced. And when 
he took her hand and asked if she could forgive him, 
ihe looked up — their eyes met, and from that instant 
they felt their destinies were one. 

" And so," said Mrs. Jemima Reeves, as the servant 
handed her a card, tied with white ribbon, " Agnes 
invites us to the marriage. I hope Mr. Tremont is of 
good family, for, you know, we couldn't visit him un- 
less. Isn't it sich a wonder that I never thought to 

•skr 

"He hasn't got a cabinet of minerals !" said Ange- 
lina. 
^ So he hain't !" responded the patroness, " why, 



really, I begin to £eA alarmed. And Mr. Reeves has 
so many distinguished relatives. There's Mr. Jonea 
went to Washington— and his cousin Stoddard, wIm, 
if two or three uncles die childless, will be the pre- 
Burning heir of a Scotch baronet It would be impos 
sible. 1 hope Agnes hain't been so foolish !" 

*' It would be awful .'"said Angelina, lifting up her 
hands. 

" Yes," said Mrs. Jemima Reeves, who forgot that 
her father had been a soap-boiler, and her grandfather 
a pauper, ** it will ; but we, who are connected with 
noble blood, and have gceat privileges, (as good Dr. 
Tane said last Sunday,) owe a duty to ourselves, as 
well as others, not to encourage upstarts. It must be 
inquired into— ring the bell, my dear." 

'* Maam," said her confidential servant, opening the 
door. 

** John, find out if Mr. Tremont is a parweHeH>— 
and bring me my lap-dog and Lyell's Geology" — and 
Mrs. Jemima Reeves leaned back upon the ottoman. 

Pbiladelpbia, June 7, 1838. C. 



VERSES. 



(AddrM«d to an Unknown Lady, at the icqnett of a Mutual Friend.) 



BT CUARLI8 WIBT THOMSON, PHILA. 



Lady! I ne'er have seen thy face — 
Thy face, perhaps, I ne'er may see; 

Nor know I of that winning grace, 
Whoae charm can bend the lover's knee. 

Then, how shall I presumptuous dare 
Pfofiine thy worth with veiseof mine— 

Or write thy praises, gentle fair. 
To lay upon the muses' shrine 7 

0! but topleosea valued friend, 
Thia leaf of simple song 1 bring ; 

Nor will the poor attempt offend. 
When owned by him for whom I sing. 

By him, whose soul so oft on you. 
In gentle smiles of joy has shone ; 

Him, whom I loved before I knew. 
And love still better, being known. 

By him, who asks my humble lays. 
In your behalf right lealous grown ; 

Who kivea to sound your loudest praise, 
And will not let me sing his own. 



He tells me you are young and fair — 
Of temper gay, of manners kind ; 

Describes to me your form and air, 
And paints the beauties of your mind. 

But saddening thoughts around me throng. 
For you, perhaps, I ne'er shall know; 

And he who thus commands my song, 
Is destined far from me to go. 

O ! why has fortune's hand the power 
Thus to o'ercloud life's little day ? 

" I never loved a tree nor flower, 
But 'twas the first to fade away." 

And him, alas! I now must lose. 
Just when I find his heart most dear. 

Whom fate for distant scenes must choose. 
When roost I want his service here. 

Will he return 1 and shall I see 
The friend he lauds and loves so well 

O! shades of dim futurity, ^jOOqIc 
It lies with you alone to tell. O 



40 



THE GENTLBMAN's XAGAZINB. 



LEAVES FROM A LIFE IN LONDON 



BY WILLIAM K. BURTON. 



No. IV. 



THE BAKER'S DAUGHTER. 



CHAPTER 1. 



Take heed of pride, and curiously consider 
How brittle the foundation ta. on which 
You labor to advance it. Niobe, 
Proud of her numerous issue, durst contemn 
LatoM*s double burthen ; but whatibllow'd ? 
She WM left a childless mother, and mournM 

to marble. i 

The beauty you overprize so, time or sickness. 
Can change to loathM deformity ; your wealth 
The prey of thieres. 

Masiinger, 



" Thii kaf won't do— iti not full weight — give me 
that one in the window." 

** Ma!" said the pretty Catalina, with an indignant 
toes of her rich nnt-brown locks, "Ma! why do you 
sufier me to be insulted by these low vulgar wretches, 
who expect me to attend to all their insolent whims, 
as if I was their servant I will not assist in the 
shop at all, I declare." 

The fond and patient mother eodeavored to sooth 
the offended pride of her petted child, and hastened 
to change the objectionable loaf. The purchaser was 
a tall, but back-bent, thin, and shrivelled man, in a 
suit of rusty black ,* his dark eyes sparkled beneath 
his gray and busliy brows, and his pale, thin lips, and 
the strongly-marked lines about his pinched-in cheeks, 
told plainly of suffering and sorrow. He clutched the 
loaf of bread with his attenuated fingers, and afler 
weighing it carefully in his hand, placed it be- 
neath his arm, and deposited the necessary pence 
upon the counter. He turned towards the door, but 
as he gained the threshold, he turned round, and 
gazing sadly upon the oifeaded Catalina, said, ** Young 
woman, I had reason for my objection to the loaf you 
proffered ; it was many mouthfub less than this ; and 
I have too oHen experienced the want of a mouthful 
of bread to quietly resign my rightful quantify. I 
have three children waiting for me— they are pale, 
squalid, and cadaverous, fox hunger, dirt, and disease 
have long been their only portions, but they are my 
own flesh and blood, and my orphan boys are as dear 
to my heart as you with your bright beauty and sunny 
looks can be to your happy, wealthy friends. I was 
once— no matter what! I am now a beggar; the 
very pence with which I purchased the loaf were 
wrung, by dint of painful supplication, from the unwil- 
ling hands of my fellow men. I have not another 
coin in the world to purchase even the coanest re- 
lish, or to procure a candle that I might delight my 
heart by seeing my bojrs devour their lompa of coarse, 
imbattered bread. Ton see now why I required the 



largest, not the smallest loaf. What would your 
trouble have been in comparison with the value of an 
extra mouthful of bread to five hungry wretches, who 
look to this loaf for the whole of their daily supply of 
food? Check then these paltry feelings of pride, 
which unfit you for the station you are bound to fill ; 
you are blessed with health and comparative wealth ^ 
be gnteful to your Maker, and do not insult him by 
exhibiting impertinence to your fellow creatures. 
You may one day be as destitute— as wretched— «s I 
am now !" 

The poor fellow vanished from the door-v^y, and 
the sound of his shuffling footsteps faded into gradual 
nothingness before any of us had recovered from the 
effects of his forcible but unusual address. My hands 
instinetively clutched the silver coin at the bottom 
of my pocket, bat before I could frame my speech, 
the man was gone. Mrs. Thome first broke the 
I silence, and observed, " Poor man ! only one loaf of 
I stale bread for himself ahid his four children ! if I had 
known it, I would not have taken his money." 

*' The impudent fellow called me < young woman;' 
and no poverty can excuse such impertinence as that/' 
said the proud beauty, as with sparkling eye and 
glowing cheek she dashed from the room, looking 
most pre-eminently beautiful while exhibiting this 
hateful deformity of mind. 

The bakers* •daughters of the metropolis have long 
been celebrated for the possession of an extra share 
of their sex*s charms. It is impossible to perambulate 
the streets of London without remailttBg the ei^eme 
beauty of the fair maidens who ait behind tkeeounters 
of the various bakeries, and preside over the dertinlea 
of the quartern, half quartern, and two-peony loaves* 
and dispense the biscuits, pies, and baked joints to 
the numerous claimants. In fancy confectioneries 
and pastry-cooks' shops, a pretty girl is a necessary 
adjunct, and such a one is ever selected; like the 
Parisian limonadiere, she is expected to be chatty and 
agreeable, and showy in manners, dress, and beauty; 
other tfirtues are not esteemed. But the flowers of 
loveliness exhibited in the shops of the bread baken, 
are generally members of the family; and although 
somewhat plainer in their attire^ are more positively 
handsome than the fancy pretlinesses in the pastry 
cooks; in fact, there is not a neighborhood in any 
part of London which cannot boeet of the beauty of 
** the girl at the baker's abop." 

Catalina lliorM* althevf h asft jMrfeetly hMOlifn], 
poswswd an ettiioiive eat ef piMly iealariiw « node- 



THE BAKER'S DAOQHTBR. 



41 



nto itatunu aad a xoiud and graoefnl ftnn. Uer 
kud and boBl diaplaj^ the usual charactarittici of 
the AngkKSaxon style of beautf, but in her noments 
of jvida, whieb weie aeitber " few nor far between,*' 
her fine light-blue eyes dilated with the stare of icom ; 
htr well arehed brows were twisted from their Ho- 
girthean line of beauty ; her nose, which ever pos- 
NSKd a slight determinatioD upwards in its exlremesi 
tipk curled into a positive snub ; and her pretty, pulpy, 
pouting lips were screwed into a repulsive knot that 
conpletely hid her well-formed pearly teeth. Cata- 
line's soule was most enchanting ; but the malignaacy 
sod freqneney of her firown destroyed, or at least con- 
liderably weakened, the effects of her sunshiny 
beauty. 

Mr. Thome's dwelling was opposite my lodgings, 
lod I could scarcely help avoiding an observance of 
the family's proceedings. Catalina's brother, Shirley, 
was a pleasant companion in various fishing and 
boating parties, and the irank jollity of the father and 
hospitable attentions of the mother, rendered an occa- 
lional visit most agreeable. I will not deny that the 
beauty of tha daughter had, originally, a strong in- 
ducing force to an intimacy with the baker's family, 
bat the bitter pride and contemptuous bearing of Miss 
Catalina kiikd the bud of love in its very germ, if 
indeed it had ever assumed a form and bearing even 
thus minute. 

Shirley Thorne doled upon his sister ; he forgave 
her haughty sneers and pettish temper with the afifec- 
tiooale regard of a fond adoring lover and devoted 
friend. His earnings were appropriated to the pur- 
chase of trinkets and other articles of finery for bis 
beloved Catalina ; his hours of recreation were spent 
in her service, in conducting her to the various places 
of amusement, in evening walks, or in listening to 
her performances upon the piano, which she touched 
ivith a skillful hand. It were needless to say that 
Catalina's parents regarded their daughter with a 
love of strong enduranoe—it amounted to positive 
tdoralioo; and they paid a bitter penalty for their 
idolatrous worship. 

Catalina's beauty attracted several beaux ; for the 
capricious fair one, despite her pride, loved to sit in 
the shop and receive the compliments of the cus- 
taSMia, and listen-lo the flattering remarks of the 
pamrs-by. But if she revelled in the homage of 
hsr admirers, sbe ridiculed their pretensioqv, and in- 
nlted their sentiments of esteem. An ofler of mar- 
nage was certain to result in a contemptuous dismis- 
■al; and the proud beauty, holding her court in a 
biker's shop, gave the rest of ber admirers to under- 
itsad that sbe wondered how the poor cast-off suitor 
could be so ridiculous as to imagine that she would 
degrade herself by becoming a tradesman's wife ! 

Poblic attention had been for some days directed 
towards the announcement of a grand Masquerade and 
Fancy Ball at the Opera House, and Catalina express- 
ed' a wish to ei^oy the mach vaunted festivities of 
tbe seaaa. Her parents endeavored to convince her 
of tbe impiopiiely of her wuih, but her affectionate 
^ hmperianoed brodier, bent upon the gratification 
of hissisui'i dM^litii ]^imbaMd a «oopla of tickalsb 



and indicated his intention of accompanying Catalina 
to the masquerade. Farther remonstrance with their 
spoiled pets waa oat of the question; preparations 
were made, dresses procured, and the parents con- 
tented themselves with requesting me to accompany 
their children to the place of pleasure, relying on my 
knowledge of London lifie as an efiScient means of 
protection to their darling Catalina. 

Nothing could be more exquisitely handsome .than 
the appearance of Catalina, as she proudly strode 
along the immense iolon. She was richly attired, 
in exact imitation of a colored print representing 
Mademoiselle Mars en role, and in the extreme dif- 
ference between her smiles and powers, strangely 
reminded me of that powerful artiste. Catalina's 
l>londe features and nut-brown curls rendered the 
picture somewhat softer in its tout etuemUe, but I 
doabt if the fascinating actress, even in her bright 
and palmy days, appeared to greater advantage than 
my parvenu Catalina, the daughter of a London 
baker. - 

I must oonfeae that I felt proud of my companion, 
and enjoyed the admiration whi^h her appearanee 
excited. Tbe single-minded Shirley was in raptures ; 
and he gazed upon his lovely sister with an ecstatic 
smile which evinced his gratified love. Unable to 
join in the quadrilles, he stood aloof, but never re- 
moved bis eyes from the mazy dance wherein his 
queenly sister moved. 

I stood lip with Catalina in the first set of quad- 
rilles, and resigned her, for the second, to the care of 
one of her beaux, who having heard of her inten- 
tions, had followed her to the ball. Harry Bruce was 
a good looking young fellow, suflSciently well to do 
in the world to enable him to seek a wife, but too 
bashful to pop the question, although sufficiently bold 
among his fellow men ; he was devotedly attached to 
Catalina; had never been connected with that object 
of her detestation, trade ; and was generally supposed 
to be sure of her consent, although the hints of his 
numerous friends, and the kindly encouragement of 
the parents had been unable to induce him to venture 
the perilous avowal. He had beheld lover after lover 
dismissed for their temerity in declaring the ol^ect of 
their ambition, and he preferred the eiyoyment of her 
society, and the privilege of paying his unacknow- 
ledged attentions to the chance of an abrupt discharge 
from the presence of his love. 

While she was ddincing with Bruce, f observed a 
man ia the dress of a brigand— that is, in the dress 
sanctioned by stage authority, which clothes a moun- 
tain bandit, a low peasant ruffian degraded to the 
level of an outlaw and a robber, in a velvet jacket 
bound with gold, and silk stockings crossed with 
fancy ribbon, instead of a jerkin of undressed goat 
skin, and leather leggings tied across with strips of 
raw hide — I observed, I say, a man in the dress of a 
brigand leaning on his carbine, and attentively watch- 
ing my pretty charge. There was a confident — nay, 
an impudent air in his manner that suited well 
enough with the character he had assumed, bat it 
also demanded the attention of her Iriends. Her bfo- 
ther had noticed the lascivious Lear wUh which the 



42 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



stranger had gaxed upon Catalina, and was on the 
point of resenting the insult in a summary way, had 
I not checked his impetuosity. Her partner, Bruce, 
also noticed the familiar and insulting gaze of the 
stranger, and in one of his moves in the dance, 
intentionally ran against the brigand, and jostled him 
from his stand. With a deadly scowl he drew his 
lobber*s knife, and menaced Bruce with an action of 
■tabbing. The young man continued his part in the 
quadrille, but as be passed the brigand in the course 
of the next figure, he knocked the high-crowned, 
riband- braided hat from the robber's head. The 
fellow turned pale, and glanced furtively round upon 
the company ; Bruce continued his dance ; and after a 
moment's pause, the brigand forced a smile into his 
face, and, turning upon his heel, walked to another 
part of the atUcn, 

At the conclusion of the quadrille, -I hastened to 
Bruce, and expressed my admiration of his conduct 
Shirley also complimented him, but his firm and cov- 
lageous behaviour had been lost upon the heartless 
girl, who thought that the brigand had been ill used, 
" for the man had certainly a right to look.*' 

I received, from various acquaintances, numerous 
requests for introductions to the beauteous queen, an<i 
iavored many of the demands. During one of her 
temporary absences, a j}e/t< maitre passed roe with nn 
open snuflf box in his hand. I had been longing for a 
pinch, and laying my hand upon the Frenchman's 
arm, said " Voulez vou hien mc permettre V* — but the 
old gentleman intent upon some distant object, passed 
on without noticing my application. Before I could 
turn round, the brigand appeared before me with a 
jewelled snuff box, which he presented to me with a 
graceful bow, saying " Quefaie Vkonneur de vcus off- 
fir ce (abac" I was annoyed at the man's interference, 
but it was impossible to refuse his offer, and in the 
course of a few minutes we were engaged in a lively 
conversation, f saw through his purpose, and resolved 
to disappoint him ; the quadrille ended, and Catalina 
and her partner were hastening towards me ; disen* 
gaging myself from the brigand in the midst of a cri- 
tical disquisition upon the relative merits of Auber 
and Adolphe, I made him a low bow, and took the 
disengaged arm of the fair queen, and strolled across 
<he room. In the course of the promenade, [ encoun- 
tered my friend Lozack; he joined us for half a turn, 
and on our return stroll, we espied the brigand in 
earnest discourse with a tall, thin gentleman in a domi- 
no ; it struck me immediately that I had seen the tall 
man before, but was unable to recollect where. " Lo- 
zack, yon know every body ; who is the tall man in 
the blue domino, talking to the brigand there ?" 

" A great reformer ; writes elaborate essays in the 
weekly papers, famous for bad groraraar and excess of 
Tituperation against all existing powers. Ho has once 
or twice been suspected ef forgery — has been tried 
for swindling; and has long since been kicked out of 
all decent association." 

*• Who is his companion, the brigand V* 
** 1 know his face, but cannot say where. His whis- 
kers bother me. Ha ! I know that action { and yet I 
may be mistaken. If I am correct, the dress is not out 



of taste. Yes, it must be the same. He ia a broken 
croupier from Paria->a chevalier d*induttrie, but of low 
caste. He is an Irishman, I believe — I forget his 
name. He is a rara avisos. Milesian without the 
brogue. He speaks several languages, but is an ia« 
corrigible scoundrel. He was discharged from 113, 
Palais Royal, for picking the pocketi of the players at 
the table — and since that I have seen him at the cor- 
ner house — the white one — in Rue — Rue — " 
" Picpus," said I, hazarding an awful joke. 
"No, no; a small affiiir in the suburbs — in the 
Boulevard Montmartre. near the TTii^re de VariMi. 
Ha! there's Vane! 1 must see him — good bye for a 
minute." 

As Lozack hurried from us, the object of my inquiries 
suddenly joined our party, and taking me familiarly 
by the arm, desired the honor of an introduction to 
the devilish fine girl under my wing. I was astonished 
at the fellow's impudence, and meditated publicly 
insulting him ; but my anxiety for the safety of (be 
inexperienced couple intrusted to my care, prevented 
the explosion. I formally declined the responsibility 
of introducing a stranger ; he muttered a low curse^ 
but checking his wrath, proposed adjourning to the re- 
freshment room. This, also, I declined. At (his mo- 
ment one of the bands struck up a lively strain — ^it 
was a new German waltz, and a succession of couplet 
darted from the crowd, and whirled around the ring 
formed in the centre of the thronged and magnificent 
area. 

" I must waltz,'* said Catalina ; " will you be my 
partner I" 
I begged leave to decline. 
" Bruce, you waliz f" 
He confessed his inability. 
" I must waltz?" repeated the beauty in the imperi- 
oQs tone that she generally used to express her 
wishes. 

^ " Permittez mot — le grand pHainr-^o be your part- 
ners, St V0U8 plait, if you sail be so good^" said the 
brigand, with an insinuating drawl, and before I could 
interfere to prevent it, the self-willed girl had accepted 
his offer, and they were rapidly whirling around the 
ring. 

I was annoyed. The man*s excessive impudence in 
thrusting himself into an acquaintance with Catalina 
after I had refused him an introduction— his broken 
language, «fter I had heard him speak correctly both 
in French and English^-Catallna's acceptance of his 
arm — and Lozack's account of his character— con- 
spired to reqder my feelings any thing but pleasant 
At the end of the waltz, he moved rapidly towards 
the supper room with hie partner. I followed, but 
was unable to get near them in consequence of the 
influx of the supper seeking masquers who rushed in 
crowds to the possession of the tables, fn vain I 
searched the room for the giddy girl and her quea- 
tionable partner; the best part of an hour elapsed be- 
fore i was enabled to single them from the crowd. 
*' Catalina, it is late ; had we not better retire." 
" I am engaged to this gentleman for the next set." 
" We promised not to be later than two o'clock. It 
has long since passed that hour," said I. 



THB BAKER'S DAUGHTER. 



43 



"* Do not ilay on my acooant ; this gentleman has 
kindly oflered to tee me home." Ai Cafalina uttered 
thii illjndged speech, the villain grinned; and bowed. 
The music struck up a mazurka ; he handed her from 
her seat, and they hurried to the ball room. 

My outraged pride tempted me to resent this insult, 
and bring the aflkur to an instant conclusion. But I 
wished not to embroil myself in a quarrel with a man 
of doubtful character in a public room, and my dele- 
gated care of the thoughtless girl induced me lo sup- 
press my wrath, and follow her into the midst of the 
dancing throng. At the door of the supper room, I 
encountered Bruce and Shirley Thome; they had been 
equally ill-treated by Miss Catalina, and the young lo- 
yer shortly left the theatre, despite the remonstran- 
eesofthe brother. 

The broad light of a spring morning yellowed the 
haggard facea of the pleasure seekers, ere Catalina 
consented to quit the masquerade. Delighted with 
the vivacity and foreign air of her new admirer, she 
resolutely refused to leave his side ; and as she sprang 
into the coach at the theatre door, said, '* Monsieur 
Li?rontique, we have room for you;" and before I 
could interfere, the supple brigand was in the coach, 
and accompanied us to the residence of the Thomes. 
The next day, while sipping my coffee at a late 
breakfast, I observed a dashing cabriolet drive up to 
the door of the baker*s shop, and the brigand of the 
preceding night, handsomely appareled in military un- 
dress, jump from the vehicle, resigning the reins of 
the fiery horse to the care of a small tiger in a showy 
livery, fn Idn than half an hour, the pretty Catalina 
was handed into the cabriolet by her new beau, who, 
resuming the reins, caused the horse to perpetrate 
various curvetings and caracolings previous to starting, 
m'uch to the wonder of the humble neighbors, and the 
admiration ofihe baker and his wife. 

I deemed it my duty to acquaint Thome with the 
character of his new acquaintance, as delineated by 
my friend Losack. The honest man seemed abrmed, 
but the mother evidently disbelieved my statements, 
and imputed my interference to jealous motives. "My 
daughter has told me of your rude behaviour in en- 
deavoring to keep her by your side during the whole 
of the evening ; and in wishing to force her from the 
rooms just as she wai beginning to enjoy the festivi- 
ties of the scene. Monsieur Maximilien Livrontique," 
leading the name from a small enameled card which 
the puppy had unnecessarily left behind, " is the son of 
a French nobleman, and although I am not so narrow- 
minded as to despise foreigners, yet there are people 
who will say any thing against them, without requiring 
the extra stimulus of rivalry in a pretty girl's affections." 
The next time I encountered Miss Catalina, she cut 
ne dead, aa the fashionable Livrontiqne elegantly 
phnsed her refusal to return my bow of recognition. 
Ber brother became cool and distant; and the parents 
evidently avoided me. The Frenchified beau had the 
field to himself; for Brace and hia competitors were 
civilly dismissed; and it was currently reported in 
the neighborhood that the pretty girl at the baker's 
was about to be married to a foreign prince, with no 
end of money and estataa. 



I determined not to see the girl thrown away with- 
out another struggle to prevent it. I sought for Lo- 
2ack that he might substantiate his chargea, but he had 
been appointed an attache to some foreign embassy. 
I pointed out the person of the supposed adventurer to 
the notice of my friend L , the head of the Lon- 
don police, but he declared his ignorance of the indi- 
vidual, although he acknowledged having had him 
under surveiUance for some weeks, in consequence of 
the mysterious nature of his pursuits, but what those 
pursuits were, L— ^^ refused to disclose ; although 
[ explained my reasons for inquiry. Disappointed in 
my expectations of obtaining a corroboration of Lo- 
zack*s suppositions, I determined to confront Monsieur 
Livrontique in public, and boldly address him as if I 
knew his entire history, and endeavor to frighten 
him from the position he had assumed. 

An opporfimity soon presented itself. I was walk- 
ing down the Strand, and passing the entrance to the 
Lowther Gallery of Science, observed Livrontique's 
cabriolet and servant in waiting. I ascended the en- 
trance flight of stairs, and discovered my gentleman 
parading the rooms with Catalina hanging on his arm. 
f encountered them, as if accidentally, and catch- 
ing Livrontique by the hand, apparently in the most 
friendly manner, pointed to some delineations of Irish 
scenery, and said, in a loud tone of voice, " Monsieur 
Maximilien Livrontique, yon were born in Ireland^- 
is that view . of the Wicklow mountains a correct 
portraiture ?" 

At this singular and apparently inexplicable state- 
ment, the eyes of the surrounding gazers were turned 
upon the questioned man, who, confused and alarmed, 
was unable to answer my sudden demand. 

** Perhaps," continued I, "you are not a Leinster 
man ? I think I heard that you came from the north 
coast. If so, how do you like this view of the Giant's 
Causeway t" 

The fellow's confusion became extreme ; he smiled 
hideously upon Catalina, scowled at me, and glanced 
fearfully upon the faces of the standers by. Rallying 
his nerves, he stammered forth : 

^* Monsieur, vous avez tort ; jetttia Fmncais" 

** You have lived in Paris, I know. How do they 
manage without you at the little gambling house at 
the comer of the Boulevard Montmartre t" 

Hia lower jaw fell, and drops of perspiration stood 
upon his brow. The people around us tittered, and 
gentleman who had been gazing earnestly upon the 
fellow's face, and seemed instinctively to guess my 
purpose, said aloud, " f saw that man a few weeks 
ago, in company with some ef the swell mob at New- 
market — ^he spoke English then, and without the 
slightest foreign accent." 

Livrontique rose, and pressing his hat over his eyes, 
took Catalina by the hand, and made his way through 
the crowd towards the door of the room. " I'll take 
the ghost's word for a thousand," thought I, as I fol- 
lowed him to the top of the staircase, where, seizing 
his arm, I said, in a whisper* '* Tou perceive, my Irish 
Frenchman, that you are known. I am acquainted 
with the nature of your avocations at No. 113, Palais 
RoyalOi and know also wfty y<m were JcUMdfrcm ihr 



44 



THE OENTLBMAK's tfAOAZINE. 



etkMithment ! if jou eontinue yovr pnMOt dMigm/' 
and I glanced at Catalina, " I ahall deem it ny doty 
ta aipoMyou yet noire publicly and more ccMuplataly. 
MJai Tboroe, tbia iceBe has given yoa MMne annoy- 
ance, biU it was necessary to your happinesa. I trust 
that your eyes are opened as to the nature of this man's 
respectability — for your own sake, you will imme- 
diately avoid the disgrace of his acquaintance. 1 shall 
be proud to accooipany you to your hoDte." 

Catalina raised her burning countenance, and gazed 
with a scornful look npon the detected knave : with a 
alight bow, she placed her arm in mine, and we de- 
acended the staiis ; we were soon overtaken by Liv- 
rontique, who, recovering his self-possession, had has- 
tened in our pursuit. Dragging Catalina from my aide, 
be muttered a few brief but impressive words. I was 
unable to distinguish their purport, but the intensity 
of their hissing sound grated painfully upon my ear. 
The poor girl glared horribly in his fiice ; a deadly 
paleneia overspread her oounlenance, and she sunk 
cowering and trembling at his feet, like a guilty and 
delected child. He raised her with unnecessary vio- 
lence ; I offered my assistanc e she shrunk from me, 
and with a wild despairing gUnce, accepted his hand, 
and suflered him to place her in his cabriolet I shall 
never forget his kx)k as he seixed the reins — it was a 
scowl of mingled triumph, hatred and reyenge— while 
the poor girl pressed her hands upon her eyes, as if to 
shut the world from her sight. 

The suspicions which this scene excited in my 
mind, were afterwards proved correct I had exposed 
the scoundrel at too late a period for Catalina to re- 
tract ; he had coRsummated his villany.and his threats 
of publicly disgracing his victim, forced her to remain 
in the meshes which he had wove around her. 

Several days elapsed without rendering the cabriolet 
or its master, and 1 was unable to perceive any signs 
of Catalina from my second floor observatory. Eire 
the expiration of a week aAer the scene at the Low- 
ther Gallery, I ascertained from young Shirley that 
his sister had left home, having been married to 
Livrontxque in private, agreeable to his most pressing 
request No members of the family were present at 
the ceremony, nor had any certificate been given or 
required. The bride and her husband were, at pre 
sent, on a little tour, which waa expected to last 
during the honey moon. 

The hot weather drove me from London, and the 
approach of the shooting season prolonged my stay. 
The fogs of November hung round the eaves of the 
citizens* roofs, and London mud and slime covered 
the side-walks, when I returned lo my old apartmenta 
My landlady had much to tell; the dojngs of the 
neighbors during my absence were freely canvassed, 
and I waa put in possession of the scandal of the 
whole qvoTtur, Amonpt other information, I ascer- 
tained that my old friend, Thorne, had become insol- 
TeBt, owing, it was supposed, to the extravagance of 
his daughter and his son-in-law. The truth of this 
piece of goasip became apparent during the ensuing 
week— the name of the baker appeared among the 
liat of baakropta in the Gazette, and tha houae and 
fiiiBitnra wefe aold by public auctum. I songlu out 



my old friend, and proffiM<ad him the littk uffieas flf 
kindness which are so accaplabie in our diamaa; Jm 
received them with gratitude; but when I inqsaatf 
reapecting Catalina and her husband, a gloonqr ailaaoe 
was the ineviuble result The secret aooo came o«t 

Maxiaiilien livrontique, with the impudeno* of 
his caste, liad petauaded Thome that he waa a claiaa- 
ani on the English government for a laijge aom of 
money expended by his fiuher in the aervioa of tho 
allies during the Peninsular war. Forged papen 
were exbibiied to prove the truth of thia alleffatian, 
and forged letters from persons in power atleated tha 
certainly of the payment of hit dsim. Thorne could 
have no objection to advance conaiderable auna to 
assist in the sure recovery of a fortune which waa to 
benefit his own daughter— the calls for more becamo 
alarming, and he was compelled to refuse. LiwoD- 
tique, who, since his pretended marnage, had never 
visited the baker's shop, being too proud lo asaociata 
with his plebian relativea, or rather being afinid to 
face a man who knew ao much of hit past life as I 
did, sent Catalina to request her father to lend hie 
name to aome bills whieh were sure to be paid when 
due from the funds aflbrded by the indemnity maaey. 
the immediate payment of which had been aolenualf , 
promised by the minister of finance. The father wioa 
unable to atand the earnest pleadings of hia balaved 
child; the bUls were signed, negociated, aiid, of 
course, dishonored. Thome, as a responsible 
was sued for the amount, and compelled to pay. 

Scarcely had he weathered this diflicuUy, y 
fresh bills were presented to him for payment Qo 
at once perceived that a forgery of his signature had 
been made. He had no difficulty in fixing upon tho 
perpetrator i and, although his choice was painful ia 
the extreme, he resolved to acknowledge the validity 
of the bills and endeavor to pay them, although tho 
act should bankrupt his esUite. Had he chosen to 
deny his signattire,and denounce the criminal, the im- 
perative nature of the statute reapecting forgery, and 
the blood-thirsty execution of its penalties, would 
have driven the husband of his child to a violent and 
disgraceful death. But his clemency availed not* 
the swindler stopped not in his career. He had tasted 
luxuries in life which before had been beyond hia 
reach; he was in a comparatively respecuible station, 
and could not persuade himself to resign his handsome 
lodgings, cabriolet, and servants, and expensive style 
of living. He was too well known at the clubs and 
gaming tables to be able any longer to carry on the 
war with profitable success ; the forgery of his father- 
in-law's name had shown him a new way to plunder 
with impunity ; ficticious notes and bills, to a large 
amount, were put in circulation, and with much suc- 
cess ; but the bubble burst one day too soon for the 
calculating roi^ue, who was on the point of departing 
fot Boulogne, the home for fraudulent insolvents and 
other English depredators, when he was arrested on a 
charge of forgery, and committed to Newgate for 
trial. The nature of hia crime left little room for hope : 
his depredations had beeu'too serious in their extonc 
and the former character of hia life was too infamona 
in its natoro to wimat any mercifnl 



THB BAKER'S DAVGHTBK. 



45 



tion. 0ji dooBB WM iMvitsble, and oo the 16ih of 
Decamber, 182—, JamM Shfthaii, tlias Dayis, aliaa 
Blaximilien Livrontiqua, waf baoged by tba nack at 
tbaOldBaUay. 



C HAP T £ R II. 

Capricious, wanton, bold,'and brutal lost, 
Is meanly lelftoK $ wken misted, erad ; 
And like the bbitt of pestilential winds, 
Tftints the sweet bloom of natnre^i (kiiett forms. 

MiUon, 

Old TboriM naver racovared the disgince of Jiis 
uaexpected bankruptcy, aad the ttigiiia oi hia coonec 
tioB wilh the infamous Livrootique ; in conaeqtienca 
of which, and from the ineiplicable nature of his ac- 
oompts, the oreditors refused to sign hia certificate. 
He became serionsly low apirited ; he seemed ashamed 
to look hia fellow men in the iace \ and, skulking in 
the dark corners of the tap rooms and p&rlors of the 
lowest tippling houses, cared not for the welfare of 
his children, or procuring the means of existence for 
hinuelf and wife. But Mrs. Thorne, with the su- 
perior energy of character so often exhibited by the 
weaker and inferior sett as we men say, in our pride 
of social rank, dashed vthe tear of regret from her 
hrow, and went resolutely to work with the intent 
of procUriag a living for those around her. Another 
ihop was opened in the name of her sonJShirley ; and 
although their means were small, and their appliances 
of an humbJe aad inferior grade, the lapse of a few 
weeks convinced them that common industry would 
iQppIy the sources of all their moderate desires. 
But, Catalina— 

Were I penning a series of imaginary events, or de- 
picting the peculiarities of characters existing but as 
creations of the brain, I might find it necessary to 
apologize for the apparent violations of probability in 
the following details; but I am merely narrating the 
positive occurrences of life — ^some of which, particu- 
larly the catastrophe, were given to the public at the 
time of action, but in garbled and irtfurmal shape. 1 
am describing the acts of a proud and petted child — 
of a beautiful but perverse girl, who had never been 
taoght to check her own imperious will, or brook the 
laoguage of reproof. I do not attempt to excite the 
tympathies of the reader in behalf of the unfortunate 
Cataliim ; the nature of her misdeeds forbids the ho^e ; 
and yet the man of observation and wordly experience 
will find more ground for excuse in Catalina's conduct 
than can be discovered in the actions of the seniimen- 
tal love^stricken heroines of the generality of the mo* 
den novels. A knowledge of the operative powers 
which influence the sad realities of life is an import- 
*&t but neglected branch of our domestic philosophy. 
"Hte poet's liae— " The child is father to the man," 
^ become anadage trite as it is true ; but we have 
Be^er enforced a practical demonstration of its value- 
rs spoil the npling in its earliest germination, and 
find not oar miatake tiU the foul branching of the 
Natare tree betrays the lankness of the cultoie. 



Catalina fondly believed the atateoenta of her bo- 
trayer, and accepted his excnlpatoiy account of hii 
Pariaian Ufe.; he confesaed that he had gambled away 
a princely fiMrtune^ and supposed that he had beeci 
suspected of connectk>n with the boose from the fre- 
quency of hia visits. She believed that he was on the 
point of receiving an immense fortune, and bore, with 
much peitishneas, the inteimediate passage between 
the obscurity of a sogoum in lodgings, and the blase 
of fashionable life, wherein she expected to conspicu- 
ously figure when Livrontique could a£ford to resuoM 
his station in the workl. Her 'proud temper forbad 
l}er to associate with her plebian parents ; her brother 
was refused admittance^" the wife oi a nobleman's 
son could not be visited by baker's boys !" 

Catalina was within a few weeks of hecoqiing a 
mother when she heard of her husband's arrest on the 
eve of his trip to Boulogne. The morning papers fur- 
nished her with a full account of his perfect villany— 
of his numerous aliases, and the whole course of his 
lishonnrable hfe. The truth flashed upon her mind 
with conquering force; she knew that she had been de- 
ceived, and resolved upon resigning her deceiver to 
his fate. She refused his most earnest applications 
f'ir an interview : forbad her relations to bring a mes- 
tiogeorcvcn mention hit name; and when she heard 
that ho intended to produce her as a witness at hia 
trial, she packed up her trinketry and a few of her 
richest dresses, and departed — no one could discover 
where. ' 

Livrontique was condemned and executed, but 
Catalina sent no token to the man she had professed 
to love. Her agonized mother advertised her absence 
in the [newspapers, and implored her quick return ; 
her brother traversed the endless maze of London 
streets, and rapped at lodging-honse doors and private 
boarding houses and hotels, but found her not. Bruce, 
who, with an honest love, had hastened to the family's 
assistance soon os* he knew of their distress, assisted 
me in my inquiries at innumerable pawnbrokers, 
where we eipecied that the object of our search would 
be compelled to dispose of lier jewels as a means of 
subsistence. We then called at the various coach offi- 
ces, imagining that she might have journc>cd into the 
provinces. We employed the keenest officers of the 
pilice to aid us in our search, but all in vain^-a year 
elapsed — the crimes of Livrontique werto forgotten by 
the public, but his wife returned not to her ikraily. 

The Thornes pursued their course wilh undeviat- 
ing attention. The mother and the son found their bu- 
siness increase daily, and the father continued his 
rounda of sottish indulgence. He was frequently led 
home in a state of helpless intoxication; and more 
than once had been compelled to send to his son for 
the means of liberation from the watch house, where 
the patrol had conveyed him from his sleeping place 
in the street One morning the poor youth called on 
me, expecting that I had some influence with Ihe ma- 
gistrate at a distant police office, whither his lather 
had been taken by a district constable, who, irritated 
at the trouble caused by the intemperate naan, seemed 
determined to press the case strongly against him ; 
and Shirley waa sadly afiraid that hii father would be 



46 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



MDleneed to the tread mill as a coDfirmed drunkard. 
We jumped into a coach, and in an hour's time, stood 
in the centre of the disgusting and motley crowd that 
daily fills the area of a London police office. 

I immediately despatched a, card to my friend 
L , knowing that in his capacity of leading po- 

lice officer, his suggestions would more avail us than 
the pleadings of the most learned lawyer. The legal 
ignorance of the stipendiary magistrates of the London 
police is proTerhial ; every question of law is referred 
to the clerk, and an experienced officer not unfrequent- 
]y rules the destinies of both the innocent and guilty 
by a well-timed wink or ^neer, as his feelings or in- 
terests may prompt him to interfere. 

The elder Thome was placed at the bar, and the 
eoDstable, duly sworn, was about to make his charge. 
In my blandest and most insinuating tone, I requested 
the judicial potentate to give us half an hour's post- 
ponemenl — ^he whispered his clerk, who raised his 
bead, and stared rudely at me and my friend Shirley, 
but I turned his impertinent stare into a gratified smile 
by honoring him with a profound and deferential bow. 
By his advice, the delay was accorded by his worship. 
L— — shortly afterwards entered ihe room; there 
has ever been " more than a feud-^a strange antfpa- 
thy" between the regular police officers and the pa- 
rish constables. L partook largely of this 

e$prU de, corps; and while the prosecuting witness 
gave his evidence against the senior Thotne, indulged 
in scorching jokes upon his prowess in capturing, with 
the assistance of four watchmen, a respectable old gen- 
lleman who had taken a social glass, while they suf- 
fered a burglary to be committed in the same parish 
without interruption. His sneers turned the affair into 
ridicule ; and the magistrate, fearful of participating 
in the contempt, ordered the prisoner to be discharged. 
Thome, who had displayed the most dogged careless- 
ness all the morning, heard the order with indifference, 
and neglected to obey the constable's mandate to re- 
move from before the bar. During the latter part of 
his " hearing.'* he had fixed his gaze upon a group of 
prostitutes, who, with brazen faces and painted cheeks, 
were huddled together in a comer, waiting thieir turn 
for appearing before his worship, for the purpose of 
answering the complaint of a nobleman who had lost 
his watch in the ladies' company at the celebrated 
Sahm de Beauti opposite Drury LaneTheatre. Thome 
was pulled from the bar, and the giris were ordered 
to advance ; as they moved, the discharged intempe- 
rate stretched forth his arms, and shrieked aloud, 
" Catalinal my child ! my child." 

He was answered by a shriek that seemed to pierce 
the brain< — and the gaudiest dressed girl in the group 
fell senseless on the floor. 

By the kind interference of L , we were 

ushered into a private room connected with the police 
office. The rays of the sun, as they glanced oblique- 
ly through the heavily-grated wiadow, lighted up a 
strange and sadly-sorted group, fn the centre of the 
room stood the father, with the fire of awakened na- 
ture fitfully gleaming through the soddened lineaments 
of habitual sottishness ; his soiled garments and blood- 
shot eye told violently of the force of the last debauch ; 



tears coursed down his bloated cheeXs ; and ^ in 
attempting to check the fierceness of a hiccough, 
which this new excitement had aroused, he had bit- 
ten his lips till the blood escaped from the comers of 
bis mouth. 

His son Shirley stood with me over the sofa where- 
on reposed the still unconscious girl thus suddenly 
restored. The rouge, which she had used to paint 
her cheeks on the' preceding evening, remained in 
daubs and blotches upon her pale and sunken cheek; 
a slight discoloration girded one of her eyes; stains of 
lamp oil disfigured her gaudy silk dress ; and a profu- 
sion of false curls fell from her head as her torn and 
showy bonnet was removed. 

L , with (lis fine manly form and benevtrfent 

face stood holding the door ajar, to receive the article* 
he had demanded from the housekeeper for the re- 
covery of Catalina, while the pert and meddling 
magistrate strutted busily about, with his hands inhif 
pockets, his spectacles raised upon his fbreiiead, and a 
pen behind his ear, asking every variety of imperti- 
nent questions, and indulging in unfeeling and insu]^ 
ing observations. He seemed to rejoice in the event 
as something that relieved the dulness of his every 
day life. His clerk, the lawyer, soon joined the party, 
when L slipped out of the room. 

I proposed sending for a coach, and removing the 
poor girl, who had recovered from the syncopation, 
and was weeping profusely on her brother's neck ; 
but his worship, who had been civilly repulsed in his 
inquiries relative to the minuti® of the aflfair, resolute- 
ly refused to let her go, affirming that a serious and 
well austained charge of robbery had been made 
against the lady, and that justice must be dealt. I 

regretted the absence of L — , but his foresight 

was exhibited in his immediate return with the noble- 
man who had been robbed ; but who promptly denied 
that Catalina was in any way connected with the 
gang who had surrounded him in the saloon, and 
deprived him of his property. 

" Still she was there at the time," said the* magis- 
trate, who had notion of being beaten at every point ; 
" she was in the room, and that makes her particeps 
eriminis — therefore I shall remand her till the day 
after to-morrow, to see rf any fresh evidence may not 
be adduced which may farther criminate her." 

" In what can she be criminal, if there is no ac- 
cusen?" inquired Shirley. 

" Don't question me, sir," said tho magistrate, get- 
ting more irate ; *' don't question me \ your friend re- 
fused to notice my inquiries, although I had but the 
enBs of justice in view. How do I know what she 
may be — some of her companions may implicate her 
in their confessions— don't reply, sir, till I have done. 
Tho affair looks suspicious. I am not to be driven 
from my course by a scream, or by the big looks of a 
baker brother, or by the tears of a drunken father. If 
you say another word I'll commit her to jail for three 
months as a disorderly female — I can do it, sir." 

His worship is quite right," said L , in a 

quiet, low tone of voice, and bowing to the magistrate 

he spoke ; ** quite right ; and though eAere U iwt so 
mwA as a conrtaWs charge against the yoOfig woman. 



THE baker's daughter. 



47 



■till he oaght to do 99 he 1ik«i, even though the gen- 
tleman here cleclaret (hat he has nothing 10 my againtt 
her. I always go for his worship, heraase I think its 
right, and that power ought to be supported. There 

was Sergeant S , who refused bail in a bailable 

case, where a lady with an infant in her arms was 
accused of swindling; well, nothing suspicious could 
be made out against her, and the prosecutor believed 
he was wrong, and offered to apologize. The lady's 
husband said somethirg which his worship (bought 
was rude, and he refused to discharge the lady or 
even to accept bail ; and he was right, because power 
oogbt to be respected. To be sure, the lady' a father 
terved the magistraU with a mandamus from the Court 
of King* t Bench, which made him look rather foolish; 
but the lady's husband had her out by a writ qf habeas 

eorpug, before night. Still I say that Sergeont S 

was right, although the inhabiiants of his district pe- 
titioned the Secretary of State for his removal from 
the magistracy, and then the newspapers look it up, 
and he was removed in disgrace^ »\i\\ I say that 
authority ought to be respected." 

" L ,** said his worship, sensibly affected, ** I 

thank yon for this proof of your devotion, but iti this 
instance I will be merciful, seeing that it is a case 
of deep distress. You may all go ; impressed, I hope, 
with a sense of my benignity in suffering the law lo 
wink while the criminal escapes." 

To make my story shorter, as it seems determined 
to exceed all bounds, I may as well give Cafalina's 
own account of her absence, as she detailed it to me 
non afler her restoration to her parents' arms. 

*• When I discovered how bitterly I had been de- 
ceived, I resolved to abqndon the wretch to his well 
deserved fate. He had no tie upon me, for / was 7iot 
lis wife ! I had trusted him, but in every instance 
he had deceived me— with passionate ealhs and 
solemn adjurations he had pledged himself to the 
truth of his avowal, but all were false, and I felt that 
I had been hia tool, and not the object of his love. I 
did not dare return to the home I had desecrated with 
the presence of my betrayer and the robber of my 
lather's mcan& I could not face the parents I had 
roined, or endure the seomful gaze of the neighbors 
whose acquaintance [ had spumed. I sought con-i 
cealment in the abode of the woman who had acted 
tt our laundress, and lived quietly upon the produce 
of my trinkets. I cannot attempt to explain the excess 
of hatred that filled my heart when f discovered the 
daily additional proofs of Livrontique's rascality. I 
rejoiced in his conviction ; I laughed loudly when I 
heard that he was doomed to death ; and so firmly 
wss the purpose of my soul devoted to revenge that I 
Mood calmly in the wet and open street, upon a cold 
>nd foggy morning, and witnessed the public death 
■troggles of my Betrayer — of the father of the child 
which I then carried in my bosom. 

" You shudder ! and, perhapa my language is repul- 
sive, but it is the truth. You know how brightly the 
ninshine of life beamed upon me, but you cannot tell 
(be rspturous felicity that I expected to enjoy in the 
high station devoted to Livrontique's bride. Instead 
of ranking with the high-bom damei of all the Euro- 



pean courts, as I had fondly anticipated, I fonnd 
myself the mistress of a convicted felon. With the 
plausibility of the arch fiend, he persuaded me to 
postpone the marriage ceremony till he could claim 
me, 'gemmed with gold;* but he soon exacted the 
privileges of a husband, while be was preparing to 
escape to France with the proceeds of his plunder. 
Wby, then, should I not hate him ! if the gi^lows rope 
had broke, 1 felt that I could have strangled him be- 
fore the assembled crpwd. 

" My child wes born, and I hated it from the mo- 
ment of its birth, for it was his! Its cry touched my 
heart, and I snatched it to my breast; but its little 
features reminded me of my destroyer, and I insisted 
upon its instant removal. I refused to let it approach 
me again; why should I suckle the child of my enemy f 
The child piaed away; I saw its face wither and 
shrink beneath ray gaze — it died, and I rejoiced. I 
would have died too— if I could have died peaceably 
in my bed ; but I was too proud to make away with 
my own life. I determined to live, and triumph over 
ihe memory of time. 

** 1 became poor — miserably poor. My jewels and 
dresses were expended, ami my landlady told me if I 
stayed with her, I must work for my living. I left 
her house, and strolled about London in hopes of meet- 
ing with some more congenial employmentiban warii- 
ing and ironing, or turning the heavy mangle. My 
pride revolted at the idea of work, but the force of 
hunger conquered my pride, and I accepted employ- 
ment in various shapes, but with the lik^ sQccesi^ 
Needle- work disgusted me by its requisite labor and 
inferior pay ; ' the manager of a theatre advertised for 
extra ladies to be employed in a new holiday piece; 
I applied, and was engaged, but was discharged at 
the first rehearsal for an impertinent answer to the 
stage director. I consented to serve in a milliner's 
shop, for less wages than my poor mother gave to her 
housemaid ; and was dismissed with contempt, at the 
expiration of the first week, because I refused to sit at 
the same table with the errand boy and the kitchen 
wench. 

" I next obtained employment as a print-colorer in 
the shop of a young and talented artist, who, I soon 
discovered, regarded me with an honest love. He 
was oflener by my side than at hia easel, and preferred 
my little back parlor to his studio on the second floor. 
Our intimacy progressed rapidly enough ; in the even- 
ings, we walked out together; and but little time 
elapsed ere he made me an offer of his hand. He 
was industrious and good-looking, but he ^as not 
rich — ^nor did I love him — but I have often thought 
if my pride had suffered me to accept hia proffered 
hand, that I might have long enjoyed the comforta 
of dome&tio life. But ray restless, ambitious spirit 
prompted me to select another sphere ; and two days 
afler the artist made me the offer, I accepted the pro- 
tection of one of his customers. 
' " You ask me why I preferred infamy with one to 
honor with the other ; I will tell you. If I married 
the artist, I knew that I could never rise beyond a 
a middling station in society, even if success rewarded 
my husband in his endeavors. Perhaps he mighf 



48 



THB GfiNTLBMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



iail; and then I ihould havo to pass a long and de- 
graded life of poverty and destimikm. On the other 
hand, I was sure of immediate plenty— of rich dothee 
and meek attendants— of flattery and lervile fxienda — 
and other gay delights. Besides, my protector was 
of an ardent and sanguine disposition ; he seemed 
enlhusiastic in his admiration of my beauty { I soon 
discovered that he was rather weakio his undeistand- 
ing ; and, in the pride of my heart, I doubled not that 
I should penuade him to make me his wife. But I 
was deceived ; a few months had scarce^ elapsed 
ere he married a childish, puling piece of nobility ; 
and I was thrown aside with hie bones, apanieb, and 
greyhounds, as unnecessary in his newly-fiumed re- 
solves. 

" I will not hurt your feelings by delineating my 
gradual declination to the state from which I have 
just been rescued. Do not pity me ; I cannot bear 
it — I despise it — I detpiie myself-— and, God forgive 
me, I am tempted to believe that I despise the -.world, 
and all that it contains." 



CHAPTER III. 

Every «enae 
Hsd bren o^entmng^ bv pangs intense ; 
Aod each frail fibre of ber brain 
Aa bow-strings, when relaxed by rain, ' - 
The erring arAw launch aside. 
Sent ibrtb her thoughts all wild and wide. 

Byron, 

Catauna remained at home in itrict seclusion, and 
in a few weeks, the dangerous beauty again mantled 
her rosy cheeks and pulpy lips ; her curling nut-brown 
hair put forth its natural properties, and the quick, 
vivacious eye, and swan-Iike neck, and graceful car- 
riage exacted their full share of wondrous praise. A 
saddened spirit seemed to have cast its mantle upon 
her, but the slightest contradiction roused her fiery 
temper, and drew down her wrath upon the head of 
the offender. Her father, roused to action by the re- 
turn of his beloved daughter, gave up his sottish habits, 
and assisted with patient labor in the increased busi- 
ness of his son. The gentle Shirley worked with 
renewed delight ; the fond, adoring mother forgot her 
past griefs in tlie bright prospect of the present joy ; 
and Bruce, with a constancy of affection that deserved 
a better object for its mark, became again the regular 
evening viaiteri and signified hiu wish that Catalina 
would give him a right to be included in the family. 

Three months had not elapsed since the restoration 
of the magdalen to her home, when I received the 
following letter from Calalina— 

*< I have again left the home of my parents, for I 
cannot endure the sight of the misery [ have caused. 
My mother's pale cheek is a constant reproach to me for 
my past crimes, and her glistening eyes are constantly 
fixed upon me with a gaze of wondering sorrow. My 
father and brother toil like slaves, and I am the cause. 
I have no companion— no society — for Bruce's pre- 
tended h>ve is a biUer insult, which he has no right 



to inflicL I cannot go oat alone— I cannot enter th« 
ahop without being stared at by the neighboia and tiie 
passers by, who all seem to know my story. Lord 
^— , who was present at the police oflica, you know 
when, has offered me a home. I quit my prison witk 
delight, and leave you to. tell my parents thai we n^ 
not meet again." 

Two nights after the receipt of this letter, the bro- 
ken hearted mother was dragged, a foul and dis6gurad 
corse, from the depilis of the river Thames; the fiither 
again flew to the bottle for relief, and attempted to 
drown his sorrows in continual inebriety. His con- 
stitution, sadly injured by his former excesses, aoon 
gavej/vay; he expired, a howling, drunken maniac; 
and was placed by the side of his wife a few daya 
after her demise. 

The ahop and fixtures were sold, and the proceeds 
were devoted by Shirley to defray the expenses uf the 
funerals. When all was settled, he called on me to 
say farewell ; and in company with his friend Bruce, 
set forth, in hopes to meet v\ith better fortune in an* 
other land. 

• * * « * * * * * 

In less than a year from the dcnih of the parents, I 
observed the lost Catolina amid the countless throngs 
of Cyprians which infest the saloons of the patent 
theatres in the height of the season. She appeared 
gay and happy, that is, if an exuberance of spirits be- 
spoke 'the joyous mind, and the painted cheek depicted 
the bloom of the heart's repose. She saw me not, and 
I had no wish to claim her acquaintance. 

Again I saw her, at some months' elapse, bow from 
the window of a handsome carriage, with a coronet 
on its panels, and a couple of gaudy footmen hanging 
from the back. I recognized her during the same 
week, in the opera box of the viscount , glisten* 
ing with diamonds and satin. The box was crowded, 
and Catalina's voice rose high above the rest. 

One night, during the succeeding winter, I was 
" sitting at mine ease in mine" apartment, listening 
to the roaring of the bleak north wind and the pelt* 
ing of the hail storm against the shutters, and the 
occasional hiss of some stray portions of hail which 
fell down the chimney into the blazing sea coal fire, 
when the house was disturbed from its propriety by 
a loud single knock at the street door. It was nearly 
twelve o'cbck, and the impatient landlady, who was 
sitting up for the occupant of the front attic, a youi^ 
clerk, who was yet out, hastened to the door, deter- 
mined to rate him soundly for the loudness of his 
knock. She opened the door and found no one there. 
A puff of the wind extinguished her light, and she 
Imstened back to inform me, the only sitter-up, of the 
peculiarity of the event. In less than half an hour, 
the knocker again sounded ; again she descended, and 
again was doomed to disappointment. Two runaway 
knocks upon a stormy night became a serious matter 
for wonderment to the old lady; and when the 
knocker again sounded, she was almost too nervous 
to attend its summons, although positively certain, 
from the well known double tap, tluit th« ecratic clerk 
w««.h«<ioor. Digitized byXaOOfg- 



THR BAKBR's DAVOHTBR. 



49 



"I beg youi pwdon, ibr hmng ao lato, my d^tamt 
madam," wM iti# young man, m he rubbed hie well- 
■oeked boole oa the paMsge mat. ** A ehockiDg night 
to be out, but I eoald not refuie ihe temptation of a 
free ticket to the play. Dreadful walking ;.Bnd there 
la a poor creatora eittiog on Brown's etepi aome half 
dozen doora below, who leems fiosen to a ataCue. 
Her olothea are ■iiff with sleet and ice.*' 

"A woman esposed to the weather such a night 
a4.this f " said the good old soul, bnmting into tcais. 
" Oh, gentlemen,' that must not be. God has giyen 
IS a warm honse over onr heads; let us not refuie a 
ftUow creature a shelter from the storm. She must 
be in distress indeed, to abide the pelting of such 
weather— or ill— or dying, may be. Do let us go 
directly f* and the old lady, who trembled at opening 
the street door to a single knock after twelve at night, 
cased berself in a huge cloak, and waded through the 
heaps of snow and hail, and braved the winter blast 
in all its fierceness, to save a fellow creature from its 
fary. According to the young man's statement, we 
found a female sitting in a crouching posture on the 
steps of a doorway ; she answered not our greetings, 
and but for a low, ooatinuoos moan, might have been 
deemed a fr osen coise. We carried her, all bent and 
double aa she sat, into the warm kitchen of our benevo- 
lent landlady, who soon stripped her of her ice-bound 
clothing, and restored her, with the maid's amistance, 
to animatioa Upon our re-admittance to the kitchen, 
I recognised the cast-away Catalina in the person of 
the unfortunate ; prompted by the deepest distress, 
she had twice knocked at my door to ask relief, and 
twice had her pride compelled her to depart without 
waiting to deliver her message. A faintness came 
upon her; she sat down upon tho nearest steps, and 
the numbing effect of the wintry storm lulled her to 
a dece^ful slumber — a quarter of an hour longer, and 
our relief would have been in vain. 

Was it possible that a few short months had 
changed the jewelled and satin-clad beauty of the 
open box into the squalid aod loathsome figure before 
met Disease, and drink, and poverty are rapid work- 
men — but 1 will not dwell upon the sad details of 
Catalina's profligate career. Her protectors had died, 
married, tired, and quarreled, till she found herself 
the tenant of a sick bed in a suburban hospital, 
where her lover^ with praiseworthy humanity, had 
ordered her to be removed, while he inducted her 
successor into her chamber, and presented the jewels 
of the sick and despairing girl to her happy and suc^ 
cessfol rival. 

She was discharged from the hospital, cured of her 
bodily ailment ; but her mind had festered, and the 
lepnma woand enlarged itself with dangerous ra^ 
pidily. She fancied in the dull watches of the sleep- 
less night that her mother and father sat by the side 
of her bed, and that Livrontique stood at the foot, 
nursing Ai# murdered habyy and fixing his protruding 
eyes upon her with a scowl of hate. A free use of 
gin drove the phantoms away ; her father would fly 
fiom the room with a scream of agony at the sight of 
the bottle; her mother would implore her not to 
drink, bat fiide away into tiiin air aa the liquor gur- 



gled dewn her throat; and Lirrontique would gaze 
with rapture aa she drank, and laugh, ancKshout with 
joy— and the unearthly revelry sounded m her ears 
long after the sight had gone. 

I requested my landlady to place Catalina in soma 
quiet, decent family wherein she could be aniduoosly 
watched, and placed beyond the reach of temptation. 
» J^ut I must have gin," she said, as I called \o see 
how she enjoyed her situatioiv ** Gin, or death— I 
care not which. To-morrow, I am twenty yean of 
age ; you will send me some gin to keep my birth d«f . 
I used to keep it gaily." 

**How do you like the family you are witfaf 
said I. ~ , 

*' The old woman preaches to. me, aod the aunt 
stares with the same sad look that my mother used to 
gaze upon me when you took me home. The girl is 
quiet— but they refuse to give me gin— and I have 
a burning here, and a craving that gin alone can 
satisfy." 

The wretched girl again eloped from our fostering 
care. My old landlady, in the kindness of her heart, 
suggested an application forCatalina's admittance into 
the Magdalen Hospital, a charitable institution ex- 
pressly devoted to cases of a similar description. The 
thought horrified her proud spirit, which misfortune 
had been unable to subdue. It was evident that she 
Btill hoped to attain a station of wealth, if not of rank, 
by the potency of her charms ; and the convent-like 
confinement of the Magdalen Hospital was not a 
suitable arena for her schemes. 

A few months afterwards, I saw her on horseback, 
at Ascot, during the races. She was in the company 
ofa notorious horse-dealer and fancy-man upon the 
turf. She rode well, an J appeared to advantage, 
thereby attracting general attention, and gratifying 
the pride of her protector. But a short time elapsed, 
ere she wab committed to Bridewell for being drunk 
and disorderly in the street, and sentenced to hard 
labor for thirty days. 

One of those appalling -tragic events which occa- 
sionally happen in large cities, and fright the blood of 
the lieges froi^ its lawful channels, ocnirred in our 
vicinity, and paralyzed the faculties of my gossiping 
acquaintances. A man had been found dead in a 
house of ill fame, and from the nature -of the accom- 
panying circumstances, it was reckoned difilicult to 
decide whether he had destroyed his own life or had 
been foully played with. My landlady was vainly 
endeavoring to combat her horror, and detail the par* 
ticulars of the rumors she had picked up amongst her 
neighbors, when I was surprised by the appearance of 
Bruce, who, in company with his friend Shirley had 
within a few hours returned to their native land 
from a long cruise among the Indian isles. After a 
short pau&e, he inquired for lus friend; I had not 
seen him. The two sailors had parted company the 
night before--4Shirley, with the express intent of 
calling upon me, and Bruce hastening to rejoice the 
hearts of his parents. Shirley had freely partaken of 
a carouse given by the captain on his safe return lo 
port, but his high spirit scorned Broce's praOered 
help, and he insisted upon being left to himeelf. I 



.50 



THE OBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



ioqaired of the landlady, if a young aailor had aaked 
for me daring the preceding evening. 

" A young sailor ! lor, no ! why, good gracious me, 
the man who was murdered round ihe corner was a 
young sailor.*' 

The remark stariled me, but I endeavored to laugh 
at the absurdity of the suppositioil it engendered. 
Bruce, impressed with a sad presentiment of ill, re- 
quested me to satisfy his forebodings by visiting the 
scene of death. We did so, and our worst suspiciMs 
were most horribly confirmed. 

Shirley was encountered in his passage to my 
house by a street walker, and persuaded to accom- 
pany her home. The morning's sun revealed the 



horrid truth ; in the person of the wanton he reoog- 
Bixed his sister CaUlina. He jumped from the bed, 
and with bis sailor's knife severed his jugular vein. 
The wretched girl was discovered by his side— « 
cureless maniac— simpering and jibbering at the hor- 
ror-stricken gaxers, and drawing figures upon the floor 
in the small puddles of her brother's blood ! 

Reader! if I have caused you "to sup full of faof- 
rors," be assured that I have spoken nought but truth. 
Catalina 7hdrne is yet an inmate of Bethlehem Hos- 
pital, in St. George's Fields, and although the whole 
particulars were never before accurately stated, there 
are many persons who can testify to the truth of the 
sad history of ^ 

The Baker's Dauouter. 



APART FROM THEE 



B7 HI8B C. H^ WATERMAN. 



Apart from thee, apart from thee. 

My lingering footsteps slowly rove. 
Beside the silent silver sea, 

I trace the haunts we used to love. 
The blushing flowers in gladness spring, 

And twine their garlands lound my feet, 
Aud birds their early carols sing, 

And yet, nor bi^ nor flower is sweet ; 
They have no song or breath for me. 
Because I am apart from thee. 

The moonlight sleeps upon the stream, 

And all the silver stars of even, 
In many a bright and shining beam, 

Siill mirror there the light of heaven. 
And like a playful child, it glides 

In music thro' the quiet wood, 
And wakens with its gentle tides, 

The echo's in its solitude ; 
But sadly doih it speak to me, ^ 

Because I am apart from thee. 



Alone, I watch the morning rise 

In beauty o'er the distant hill. 
And mark the bright and glowing skies, 

With gelden gleams the glad earth fiU, 
And far adown the crimson clouds. 

Alone I watch its fading light. 
And linger still, till darkness shrouds 

Its glory with the veil of night; 
For like that night is lift to me. 
Because I am apart from thee 

Apart from thee, how sad, how sad. 

Have all my early feelings grown ; 
The heart can be no longef glad, 

That broods in solitude alone { 
And like a harp that hoards its song. 

'Till wakenM foy the master hand, 
1^0 courtly flatteries of the throng. 

Its baried music may command ; 
'Tis silent all, 'till I shall be 
No longer, love, apart from thee. 



SONNETS, FOR THE SEASON 



JUN^. 
I<Iow come the rosy June and blue-eyed honn, 
With song of birds and slir of leaves and wings. 
And run of rills and bubble of bright springs. 
And hourly burst of pretty buds to flowers ; 
With buzz of happy bees in violetrbowers. 
And gushing lay of ihe loud lark, who sings 
High in the silent sky, and sleeks his wings 
In frequent shoddings of the flying showers i^ 
With plunge of struggling sheep in plashy floods. 
And timid bleat of shorn and shivering Umb, 
Answered in fiir^oflffaintness by its dam ; 
And cuckoo's call from green depths- of all woods; 
And hum of many sounds, making one voice 
Thai swetteos the mooth air with a melodious noise. 

C, W. 



JULY. 
Now the hot July hurries half-arrayed 
From tending his green work on sultry hill, 
In bower and field— seeking the shrunken rUi, 
Or cave, or grot, or grove of pleasant shade. 
But flings his length where huddled leaves have made 
Cool covert for faint noon. Now not a bill 
Of happiest bird breaks the greve-ailence still 
With call to his songfelloovs ; and not a blade 
O' the tall grass wags, so idle are the winds. 
The bee, with laden thighs, yet dares not stir 
For his far home ; and the quick grasshopper. 
Though amorous of the sun, yet haply finds 
Deep shelter in green shades is better far p. 
Than burning in the blaie of the malign dog-star. 

C. W. 



HENRT PULTENBT. 



51 



HENRY PULTENEY: 

OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A WANDERER. 

/ 

Continued from Page 308.) 



CHAPTER XV. 

Hue Tina et unguenta et nimium brevis 
Hofv« amoenos f«ne jube nme ; 
Dam res et aetas, et sororam 
FUa triiun pathintur atra. 

HortA, 

SeeHt thou yon line of light apon the river. 
Where the stream mirrors back the smile of heaven ? 
*Tii the moon*8 rays reflected from the curve 
On the edge of a water4kll. 

Through a soft and UDdulating valley, shielded 
from the breezea of the north by a high mane of hills, 
and boanded on the one hand by an antique forest, 
and in front by the white waves of the many-billowed 
lea, there flowed in many " lingering labyrinths" of 
grace, a gentle pearl-dew brook, that trembling down 
the steeper channel with a soft complaint, or gliding 
with a dreamy gentleness along the level banks, 
charmed the eye of taste by the transparent white- 
Oflss of its color, or gratified the ear of leisure by " the 
pleasant noise of waters." At various points the 
itream had been taught to divide around little plat- 
fonns of the purest marble, which islanded the rivu- 
let, and were surmounted with seats and couches of 
the same material. To recline upon the high crim- 
lon cushions that <rovered these graceful sofas, in a 
rammer spirit and with a heart at ease^ in all the de- 
licious ohandon of the " stratus membra," and watch 
the flitting on the wave of the brown denelated shade 
flong by the tall, bending shrubbery that e^^iy where 
arched apd cooled the course of the brook, and feel 
the refreshing breath of the breezes that had strug- 
gled through the plaited barriers of the vine-fringed 
branches to play in the holiday shelter with the un- 
dazzled dimples of the evasive water, and listen to 
the faint roar of the passing wind thro'^gh the tops of 
the lofty trees — the "pinos ingens, albaque populus" — 
or to the deliberate dash of the waves upon the neigh- 
boriag beach, and dream, in this mental cradle of in- 
dolence, of joys that had been, were, and would be, 
made up a globe of intense delights that might have 
deceived even the unresting spirit of a Faust into 
nying to the passing moment, "Stay! thou art so 
lair!" 

Throughout the whole of this smiling " angulus ter^ 
nrum" there was spread forth whatever could please 
the sense by the fragrance of its perfume, or soothe 
|he spirit by the calmness of its beauty. The bend 
ujgf venerable elm, with whose majesty of graceful- 
naia ao form of shrtib or tree may be brought in ri 
▼airy, waa hanging full with purple clusters of the 
<^ic grape. The broad and well-poised oak, the 
loaolieat trae of trees, frowned in its stalwarth dig- 



nity of strength and age. The rude, time-shattered 
platanus mingled its bare and ragged branches with 
the rich and comely foliage of the verdant olive. The 
varied walks that wound among the frequent trunks 
of these peers of the forest, were interrupted occa- 
sionally by little bowers, whose. shade invited to me- 
ditation or study, and were diversified with 

Casts from all those statues fair. 
That are twin-born with poetry. 

A sweeter spot of earth beneath a brighter part of 
heaven, the least vacant fancy oonld scarcely have 
depicted. 

Four years did I pass in this pleasant villa, with 
the bride whom I had so hardly won ; and the memory 
of that time falls upon my mind with the soothing 
sufiness of a coat of down that shelters from the sharp 
points of the piercing air, or like a day of unstartled 
silence amid months of turmoil and contention. 
Through all this time, the days of my life were circled 
with the quietude of perfect bliss ; I looked neither 
back nor beyond ; the joys of the present effiiced the 
past and outstripped the future. It is society which 
in Europe makes wedded life a curse : the duties and 
distractions of rorapany prevent that union of spirit 
which to be perfect, must be peaceful, and plunge 
each of the parties into different end jarring spheres 
of conduct. But there was no such miserable toil and 
task- work of existence to dry up in our hearts the ge- 
nial freshness of being, and divert to thankless and 
miserable nothingness that gayety of fancy, quickness 
of intellect, and fullness of feeling, which, if turned 
toward a single object, soon kindles the abiding fire 
of domestic happiness. We were alone in that sum- 
mer world of love which the " still-beginning, never- 
ending" ardor of our spirits spread around us. With 
even step, we walked side by side in the calm valley 
of peace, and of those passions whose influence might 
have developed unequal susceptibility in our natures 
and driven us asunder, none touched the deep seclu- 
sion of our pacific sea, save that to whose power we 
were equally obedient. There is a love, which 
founded in passion, is soon reduced to indifference by 
the self-exhausting violence of i^i own excitement : 
and there is a love, which, based on knowledge, deep 
appreciation, and the cautious wisdom of a disciplined 
heart, grows daily warmer and deeper by the self- 
evolved energy of its own exhaustless strength : 

Age cannot wither it,"^ 

Nor custom stale its infinite vyt^y* t 

Digitized by VjOOQiC 



52 



THB GBNTLEUAlf'S MAGAZINE. 



I^aiiy did my affection for Helena become truer and 
more thorough. The wretched cheats of worldly 
opinion never came to sap the strength of confidence, 
or seduce the entireness of devotion which were be- 
tween us. Each lived for each, conscious of finding 
the happiness of self in seeking the enjoyment of the 
other. 

At the period of which I am now about to speak, 
my family consisted, beside Helena and the bright* 
eyed boy that ever walked beside us, of but three per- 
sons; fur abhorring the pompous slavery of a nurae* 
lous retinue, I kept no more attendants than were ab- 
solutely necessary for the convenient manQgement of 
our concerns. Of these three, one was a Greek, from 
Parga — a strange, wild-looking fellow, who had very 
recently come into my service. He had approached 
me with a tale of such helpless destitution that, in 
spite of his forbidding aspect, I could not help engag- 
ing him. His rough beard and glaring eye excited in 
the. spectator's mind an involuntary feeling of distrust, 
which his unbroken taciturnity and gloomy counte- 
nance did not tend to remove. He was an object of 
singular aversion to my boy, who, though naturally 
courageous in other things, always turned away when 
the Greek came near. 

The broad orb of the sun was slowly descending 
through the vaporous shy, and filling the western ho* 
rizon with a melancholy brilliance, as I reclined with 
those I loved, on a broad Ottoman near the large win- 
dow which looked out upon the declining light of the 
day. Upon my right hand Helena was lying, in the 
same musing mood with myself; on the other, my boy 
was sitting up, with his back against the cushions, his 
glossy curls waving over his temples, and bis full eye 
fixed upon the light with that rapt and meditative 
gaze with which children often regard the mysteries 
of nature, as if communing with some spirit whose 
presence was veiled from the colder eye of manhood, 
and as if they 

Worshipp'd at the temple's inner shrine, 
God being with them when we know it not 

The strength and closeness with which that boy was 
twined about my heart, none who had not felt the 
wildness of my love, could ever apprehend. The af- 
fection which we have for our children is necessarily 
fijler and more complete than that which any grown 
person can inspire ; for in their case, the gushings of 
tenddmess are never checked by doubt or mistrust, 
but we pour out our kindness towards those of whose 
lovo we are secure, and whose every word and action, 
by whatever motive prompted, we construe instinc- 
tively into an utterance of regard. I yearned to fold 
him to my bosom and melt his nature into indissolu- 
ble union with my own. The affection which 1 felt 
for him made no lessening of that which I had for 
Helena. I loved them with one love ; they were to 
me but various avatars of the same essential excel- 
lence. As these two— >the only and engrossing ob- 
jects of my attachment — were beside me, and the 
serene impressiveness of the season subdued ray spirit 
to a deeper sosceptibility of emotion, a gentle flood of 



rapturous passion flowed upon my breatfl with a full- 
ness too great for my nature to encompass. I cannot 
tell what was my happiness; I could not know what 
was its measure. 

In such f ccess of soul — in such high hour 
Of visitation from the living God, 
Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired. 
My mind was a thanksgiving to the power 
That made me ; it was blessedness and love. 

In the centre and zenith of earthly bliss, there is a 
thought prophetic of our ruin. While this delicious 
gladness swelled around me with even a painful 
power of impression, that gathered insensibly about 
my heart a shapeless dread, which nothing could re- 
sist. The strength of happiness with which I had 
girded myself in the fearless hour oi mj glowing 
youth, seemed to fade av^y like an unreal mist, and 
leave me defenceless to the storms of fate. My mind 
seemed to sink beneath a dark feeling of apprehen- 
sion, as the frame trembles in the dead and heavy aix 
that harbinges an earthquake. Nor was the fear a 
fancy : the anxious heart of love had caught the re- 
fraction of the pale light thai was yet belOw the hori- 
zon, and its ghastly huelcssness was flung over the 
landscape. 

I turned towards, her to whom my feelings always 
beat. With a dim and visionary eye, she was pon- 
dering the scene before her. She presently heaved 
a sigh and said, as if speaking to herself, and uncon- 
scious that her words were heard, " Before that sun 
has looked out for thirty times from the windows of 
the west, I shall be lying whore his light cannot 
pierce. I feel it here ;" and she laid her hand upon 
her heart. The boy, hearing his mother speak, but 
ignorant of her meaning, raised himself and leaning 
over my breast, gazed upon her face with a smile. 
There was that in my bosom which told me that she 
spake truly, and the dart of unutterable anguish trans- 
fixed my soul. 

That the glad Eden-life which the rosy fingers of 
the unresting hours had elaborated around me in a 
spot whose ** richness ran to flowers," should be swept 
away iiv,a moment, and the seeming purpose of con- 
spiring circumstances be lost and ruined— that the 
firm key-stone of so broad an arch of joy ahould be 
plucked out so wantonly, as it might seem, and all the 
gorgeous robes wherewith the real shape of life had 
been concealed from the eye of hope, should be strip- 
ped from my bare existence, and no vestige remain of 
what was once so fair-formed a prospect of misery 
beyond the regret of words or tears. The calamity 
that consists in'^hV'loBs of that person who would 
have assisted us to bear discomfort, transcends all con- 
solation. The rebuke of the thunder is dreadful even 
to the housed ; but if the lightning fire our very shel- 
ter, what hope remains ? Those losses that wound 
the affections are doubly cruel ; for the accident that 
throws the pain of solitude and silence around the 
gayety of our home, increases that susceptibility, 
which points the' arrows of a£Biiction with peculiar 
keenness, and unfertifies the firmness that resists op- 



HENRY PULTENEY, 



53 



preeeioo. Cadero graviore caeu is the sad penalty 
which we must pay for the elevated joy? which spring 
from the indulgence of the feelings. The purest de- 
light tells raore mildly the same moral which coarser 
pleasure tells with harshness, but it declares it as 
firmly. 

He that sits above 
In his calm glory, will forgive the lovo 
His creatures bear each other, o'en if blent 
With a vain worship;— for its close is dim 
Even with grief, which leads the wrong soul bock to 
him. 

Amid all tho griefs whereby Providence would 
warn us to our wisdom, there is none that so compels 
conviction of its truth, as 

The shock 
Of young years widowed, and the pain 
Of single life, come back again. 
On the lone man, who, reA of wife, 
Must thenceforth drag a maimed life. 

Why should I trace again the painful history of the 
fulfilment of the words of Helena, or slowly syllable 
the lengthened tale of anguish which succeeding 
weeks disclosed ? It is enough to say, that the dark 
forebodings of my heart came true. The freshness 
of health faded gradually from her check, and the 
vigor of her strength declined daily ; and the days 
which she named had not elapsed when she breathed 
forth her life within my arms. 

It was a relief to me that the seclusion of my resi- 
dence saved me at least from the studied mockery of 
funeral ceremonies, — the horned courtesies that insult 
our rain. A large block of marble stood in tho 
park, covered by a marble slab. I ordered the lop to 
he removed, and a coflln to be channelled out in the 
stone. And I took the lifeless form of Helena in ray 
arms, and bore it alono to the spot ; and I placed it 
in the tomb and lifled the huge slab over it. And I 
stooped down, and with a sculptor's chisel I graved a 
cane upon tho marble ,* and the curse was upon him 
that should disturb that form. And I know that her 
remains are still there, and will be there for ever, and 
. ihat her repose will never be disturbed, for the power 
of that curse iivill guard her rest. 

When I had finished my work, I looked up upon 
iho sky in the calmness of desolation. I had one joy 
left^my child- The last glance of Helena had rested 
on his countenance, and her last strength had folded 
his hand in mine. There remained to me no hopo of 
comfort but what was wrapped up in him. He only 
could renew in mo the memory of her who had been ; 
he was the only obje'ct which stood between me and 
utter despair. 

Such thoughts were passing through my mind as I 
returned from the sculpture to tho house, where the 
% remained. I could not bear to look upon the 
landscape as T passed ; to continue in that residence 
^u impossible. I would lake up my son in my arms, 
wd go forth from the place where every sound was a 
ttoan of desolation. I would seek with him the shores 
of Europe, and in some retired corner of the world 

TOL. III. o 



live out in patient grief the portion that remained 4o 
me of life. 

When I reached the house, I went to the chamber 
in which I had IcA littbe Henry : but he was not 
there. I looked through the other rooms, but he waa 
not to be seen. I called him in cYery quarter in 
which I could imagine him to have gone ; but there 
was no answer. At that moment, by some mysterious 
influence, the rrmembrance of the Greek flashed upon 
me : I thought of nothing else. Great God I what a 
thought about the Greek rushed into ray mind. 

I ran into thok side-yard in which an old servant 
was engaged in her work, and asked if she had seen 
tho boy. She replied,, that just as I had left the house, 
she had seen tho Greek, AlessanJro, walk toward 
the stables, with tho child in his hand ; that was at 
least three hours ago, and neiihoj" of ihom had come 
back. I flew to the entry, and seized my hat. As I 
look it up, there fell from it a note. I took it up, and 
read as follows : 

" There is tinchorcd in the bay of Bafla, on the 
western coast of Cyprus, a ship, ready to ^ail tho mo- 
ment I reach it ; and there is no other ship in the 
harbor. By relays tf tho fleetest horses, which I 
have provided, I will be at least forty, miles on my 
way before you receive this letter, through the first 
ten miles of which I am carried by your black horse, 
Thunderer. Your son Henry bears me company. 
Pursuit by you is, of course, hopeless. 

" Imagine to yourself a being the most corrupt and 
loathsome in mind and body that tho quality of hu- 
manity will admit of. To that condition, it will be 
the unremitting labor of my future lifu to reduce your 
son. He shall dwell with the vilest of the human 
race ; he shall see no other sights and hear no other 
sounds than those of pollutipn and profanity. Every 
device that the ingonuit)' of malignity can suggest, 
will be employed to deprave his nature, until every 
vestige of the pbriiy that is now in him shall be eaten 
out by tlio cancer of moral defilement. He will be 
bred ignorant of every thing that con redeem him from 
utter^ degradation ; tho first words that he shall be 
taught, w ill be those of blasphemy ; the only instruc- 
tion he shall reccivo will be incentive to crime and 
baseness. If you ever again behold him, you will 
behold an atheist, a drunkarcl, a thief, a mur'derer; a 
being rotten in body, sin-putrid in soul.^a mass of 
moral and corporeal corruption, which nothing but 
hell-fire can purge. 

" Ponder these certainties till they fester your spi- 
rit with the heat of leprosy ; then calm your disturb* 
ance with tho knowledge that the vengeance of Har- 
ford is at last complete." 

The rage and horror that started in my mind at the 
first glance I cast upon this letter, grew stronger and 
deadlier as sentence afler sentence passed before my 
eyes, until I reached tho end, and felt that my child 
was lost for ever. The paper fell from my hand, the 
objects around me swam dimly bc^re my eyes, and I 
sank unconscious on the floor. I had broken a blood 
vessel. ' 

When I recovered my recollectioiiJi#li)5ib£''^ 
bed, exhausted and ill. 

To be continued.] 



54 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



PAGES FROM 

THE DIARY OF A PHILADELPHIA LAWYER. 



No. V. 



THE WILL 



What U*t we lire for ? tell life's fairest tale— 
To eat, to drink, to sKep, love, and enjoy. 
And then to love no nioit- 1 
To talk of things vre know not, and to know 
Nothing but things not woiih the talking «jf. 

Sv' Jf. FanCy Junior. 



At an early hour of the morning, in the coT.mencc- 
ment of the yeor 183 — , I was called upon by a young 
friend to attend the bed side of a dying roan, who 
was exceedingly anxious to bequeath his property to 
an individual out of the line of legal succession, and 
therefore desired the security of professional aid in 
Iho construction of his will. 

Although I have always felt extreme repugnancy 
to the presence of sickness, and eschewed with more 
than ordinary sensibility the sight of mortal dissolu- 
tion, yet, such were the peculiar circumstances urged 
uponr roe in this instance, that I could not refuse to 
accompany my friend lo the scene of death. 

I waited upon the feeble and fast sinking being 
who had evinced such particular desire for my per- 
sonal attendance, and found him with all the com- 
forts and convenience which competency could give 
to a sick chamber, apparently waiting, in patient re- 
signation, the execution of the grim and eyeless foe. 
An inclination of the head of the patient was all the 
recognition of my entrance that his emaciated and de- 
cayed energies admitted. The friends who stood 
near him, bade me be sealed by an ecritoire that had 
been placed by the bed aide, with other arrangements 
foe my purpose, and J hastened to the accomplishment 
of the object of my visit, believing, as J had reason 
from the symptoms already evinced, that the patient 
had but a short time to live. Every thing was ar- 
ranged for the performance of my oiTice. and the 
friends gathered closer around, with a mingled desire 
to loam who would succeed to so handsome an es- 
tate, and to lend what assistance they could to the 
discharge of this solemn right of man. It was with 
great difliculry. and at painful intervals of labor, that 
the patient was able to make himself understood. As 
distinctly, however, as his situation would allow, he 
made known his bequests in tlie following. simple 
form and order. *' I givo and bequeath my family 
mansion, in which wc are now assembled, viiih its 



furniture, my equipage, and my gold watch', to my 
good and true friend B ," referring to the young 
gentleman who had conducted me to him, and who 
stood at the bed side supporting his head at the mo- 
ment — " to rsy faithful nurse," (whostood just then at 
the foot of the bed with a tearful eye and expectant 
look) " I give and bequeath the sum of one thousand 
dollars, to be paid to her immediately after my de- 
cease ; to — to Margaret — " and here the patient la- 
bored as if a paroxysm of excitement and painful 
feeling would overcome him — " to Margarei'*— he 
exclaimed, with an unnatural strength and sharpness 
of voice, while the last tear that exuded from his 
glassy eye, traced its tortuous coarse upon his cold 
and sunken cheek — " I give and bequeath the rest and 
residue of all my estate, of whatever kind and where- 
ever situated, and may God grant her a long enjoy- 
ment of its Christian and charitable use." 

The greatest eflort seemed here to be accomplished. 
The patient motioned his desire to be laid in a 
more horizontal position, which was obeyed by those 
around him, and turning his face towards me, cast an 
anxious look upon the paper which I held, as if eager 
to hear its contents. It was read to him, and he sig- 
nifying his approval, extended his head as far as his 
remnant of strength would permit, to complete its ex- 
ecution. I placed the pen in his fingers, and guided 
his clammy hand as it traced his name upon the 
paper. 

Nature seemed to have awaited this deed ere she 
completed her course. Scarce had the witnesses pre- 
sent signed their attestation to the instrument, when 
the startling and thrilling sound of the death rattle 
rung through the stillness of the dying chamber. A 
long and deep drawn breath heaved from the breast 
of the patient — and mourning friends turning their 
faces from the deserted tabernacle of humanity, told 
too surely that the work of death was accomplished. 

I gazed a moment inosjidi^mflbpnoumful feeling upon 



THE WILL. 



55 



the vacant eye and parted lips of the fresh corpse as 
it lay siifleniDg before me, and ibought over the wordn 
of the poet — 

To hear the dying their faint murmurs speak, 

And watch the deaih-glaze smooth the waxen cheek ; 

To see the fiery e} e ball fiercely roll 

Ai if it wresilcd wiih the parting sou) ; 

Or hear tho last clod crumble on the bed. 

And sound the humble mansion of tho dead ; 

This, this is woe ! 

Hastening from this scene of mortal misery, I re- 
paired to nay residence, to shake off the sadness in 
which the business of the last few hours had enveloped 
me, not without a determination, however, to learn at 
the earliest interview I co^ild obtain with the friend 
of the testator, some particulars of his history, and of 
her, tho remembrance of whom had excited so much 
emotion on the dying bed. 

After the funeral rites had been faithfully perform- 
ed, r sought the person who had connected me with 
the events described, and received from him the fvl* 
lowing account of the deceased and those connected 
with him. 

A number of years ago, Charles , the de- 
ceased, was Q student of medicine in (hia city. At 
this early period of life, being then upon the thres- 
hold of manhood, he had evinced great qualities of 
mind and heart, and had secured the confidence as 
well as the esteem of those who knew him. During 
the prosecution of bis studies here, his society was 
much sought after, and amidst the gay and busy maze 
of fashionable life, and fsDhionablo associations wiih 
which he was surrounded, it was not thought strange 
that be should select an object for his more particular 
attention and confidence. Nor when his marked 
attentions evinced In whom this confidence was 
placed, was the surprise of any one excited, for the 
object selected was just such an one as a noble and 
discriminating mind, and a good heart, might be ex- 
pected tu single out. On this Lidy, then just so far 
bis junior in life as to make their disparity in years 
harm >niz3 in a parity of thought'and feeling, Charles 
looked with all the bright and promising prospective 
that adorns first love. To his glance her soft and 
piercing eye gave the ever ready response of devo- 
tion, and every approach to her presence seemed to 
stir a soul within him that was to him as pure as 
though she had irradiated her own around him, and 
infused him in its halo. A short time of such bliss- 
ful revelry passed, embalmed in a thousand day- 
dreams of tho future, and Charles was brought to the 
green box of tho college to stand the (est of his matri- 
culalion in his profess'on. He pa^sscd his examination 
whh honor, and went into the world with the evi- 
dence thereof, under the seal of an ancient and re- 
spected alma nMter. Charles had parents residing in 
one of the West India Islands, from whom he had 
long been separated while in the care of a friend and 
guardian, and engaged in tho completion of his educa- 
tion, and now ho felt a determination to put into 
execQiion a long expressed desire to visit them. In a 



few weeks he left this port on his destination, Ieavirj|f 
behind him his plighted faith to his betrothed to re- 
turn and claim her at the expiration of a brief ab- 
sence. 

Charles arrived at the home of his parents, hut 
found it desolate, and the^ ruins of a once beautiful 
mansion, with the surrounding estate, attached to the 
domain of a neighboring stranger. An insurrection 
had recently taken place on the island ; his father hod 
fallen a victim to the infuriate madness of his own 
rebellious household, and his raotlior, who, with other 
females of the inland, were early placed on board a 
vessel at the nearest (tort, fur security, had, with her 
companions, long since been given up as lost at sea, 
the vessel never having been heard of since her de- 
parture from the island. Overwhelmed with such an 
unexpected and tragical bereavement, and thrown 
upon tho world without a prospect or security ogainst 
the sliglitest vicissitude that might ovcrlakc him, 
Charles lust all recollection of his former hopes and 
hnppineps, and gave up in dejeciion, all the rich an- 
tieipaiions of a happy union with the idol of his love. 
Years passed by, and while he remained in the 
place of hi.4 nativify, sedulously occupied in the pn> 
seculion of bis profession as his only means of liveli- 
hood, the sweet recipient of his plighted love, still 
bound in the enduring chain of woman's pure and 
first pledged alTection, lient like the drooping lily 
beneath tho blast of unanticipated neglect, and in 
seclusion from society, and the e.iercine of Christian 
charities and devotion, sought a balm for her wounded 
heart. In a short period a change took place in the 
government of tho island on which Charles was resi- 
dent, and a spirit of returning justice and humanity 
directed tho atteiition of the authorities to the restitu- 
tion of tho estates which had been ruthlessly seized 
upon by the nearest surviving inhabitant, after the 
dreadful and bloody slaughter of the insurrection. 
The evidence of the claim which was made by 
Charles to his pitrimony was so plain and clear, that 
he was among the first to receive his estate, ond by 
it, to be placed again in a condition of competency. 
A climate to which he vvos unaccustomed, the efHecta 
of the sudden di&ostcTs that had befallen him, and 
the as-siJuiiy with which he prosecuted his profession, 
had, however, made such fatal inroads upon his con- 
stitution as to leave little hope for a long or happy 
enjoyment of his new possessions. By the advice of 
his own judgment, which was the. only monitor ad- 
mitted by him into his confidence, he Fold for the 
first price he could obtain, all his interests in the 
island, and sailed from it with tho determination of 
seeking a more congenial home and a last abiding 
place, in the land of his youthful reminiscences. Ho 
arrived at Philadelphia but a few months previous to 
the period of his decease, and sought and received 
the companionship of the very few of his early friends 
who were seen standing around his bedside in the 
hour of his death. First of these ~he had placed the 
narrator of these circumstances to me, who had been 
tho means of my introduction to the painful scene 
above described, and who bad been his classmate in 
his professional sludiet. He ventured not, however. 



56 



THE GENTLEMAN S MAGAZINE. 



even to him, to breathe the name of her to whom he 
had devoted the first and fondest affections of his 
heart, lest to his inquiry he should invite a response, 
that he felt his weak and shattered nature unable to 
'Withstand. 

To b(>guile his time and divert his attention, as far 
as possible, from the devastation that an incurable 
disease was working upon his remnant of mortality, 
his friend frequently induced him to take a seat with 
him in his daily round of visits to those who claimed 
his professional relief On one of tliese occasions, 
just as the friends were leaving the door together, a 
servant dressed in a plain and modest livery came 
to the side of the cab and handed a noto for the doc- 
tor. Charles pointed to his friend, to whom the note 
-was immediately delivered. On opening the note, it 
proved to be an envelope to a fee, with a request for 
the immediate attendance of iho doctor upon a poor 
Tvoman who lay in a dangerous situation. No name 
Tvas signed to the request, but the neat female chiro- 
graphy was immediately recognized by the physician. 
It was the successor of several similar favors from an 
anonymous patron, who had for some time excited the 
liveliest curiosity of the doctor, but of whom, with 
all his anxiety, he could learn nothing farther than 
that she was called among the poor, the Christian 
lady, and that most of her time was devoted to visit- 
ing the needy sick, and administering to the necessi- 
ties of the unfortunate and destitute. The mention 
of these circumstances elicited a similar sympathy in 
the breast of the warm hearted Charles, and he urged 
his friend to hasten to the direction given in the note, 
in the hope that they might get a glimpse at least, of 
the being, who could, in such retiring and unostenta- 
tioni sincerity, exercise the true and holy devotion of 
Christian charity. 

They soon arrived at the place designated, and 
found themselves in the midst of the most wretched 
poverty and destitution. They entered the house, the 
tottering and frail condition of which seemed scarcely 
to possess stability enough to rcnicr a momentary de- 
lay beneath its ragged cloisters secure, and asked of 
one of the inmates who confronted them at the en- 
trance, to point the way to the sick woman's chamber 
The poor woman, who seemed to recognize the phy- 
sician, pointed up a craz/ staircase before them, and 
shook her head as she muttered to them that it was 
nearly over, and that it was now too late to do the 
old lady any good. They immediately hastened to 
the patient, but the great object of their curiosity was 
not there. The good lady, they were told in answer 
to their inquiries, had just lefl, to avoid being seen 
hy. any strangers that might be coming in. In one 
comer of the miserable room, upon a mockery of si 
hed, which, with a plain pine table and a single chair, 
cxinstitafied the whole furniture of the apartment, lay 
8fzet;hed the insensible and dying patient. 

Charles seemed to lake particular interest in the 
case, and his friend permitted him to have the entire 
direction of their proceedings. As they had been 
admonished at the door, they found the poor woman 
past all hope. Charles turned to the apparently half 
starved being, who seemed to be present in the capa^ 



city of nurse, and asked her if «he knew any thing of 
iho character of the patient. She replied that she 
knew but little, and had been with her but a few 
days, at the request and under the pay of the good 
lady, who had been so kind and benevolent to all the 
poor. All that she knew of this good lady was that she 
lived in — — street, which information was eagerly 
received by Charles, and noted down in his memo- 
randa. The old lady, continued the nurse, had evi- 
dently seen better daye, and while she eeeraed tobow 
wilh Christian resignation to the afflictions that were 
upon her, she yet, at every interval, of strength, 
prayed to be spared, if possible, to hear of her eon— 
her dear son — whose nome was ever on her lips, 
after which, she often said, she thought she could die 
happy. Poor woman ! exclaimed Charles, she then 
has a £on, who perhaps possesses the means of oflbrd- 
ing every comfort and consolation to her in her dying 
hour, and lie knows not how wretchedly destitute she 
ia. But pray, continued he, in his interrogation of 



the nurse, by what name, as you have said, did she 
call upon her son? Charles, replied the woman; 
Charles was the name that never left her lips, while 
she had strength to utter it. Charles, lowly murmured 
he — let me look upon her face, and in an in&tant he 
hastened to the bed, and raised the light covering 
that had hid her emaciated features from him — his 
eyes seemed to start from their sockets, in the wild- 
ncss of their glare, as in the last c6nvul:sion of death, 
he recognized her. Mother ! — mother ! he exclaimed, 
and fell lifeless by her side, with his arms locked 
around the decrepid form. The dying woman raised 
her. eyelids, and looked upon the stranger who had 
thus aroused her. A smile passed over her pallid 
features, her lips quivered, as if she would say, 
" Charles," and in an instant she had breathed her last. 
A moment passed, while all around stood speechless 
an 1 motionless, at this affecting scene. After every 
means of refuscitation had been used upon Charles 
almo.st without effect, his friend disengaged his arms, 
and carried him, in his unconscious stare, to the cab, 
which stood at the door, and placed him in it. A 
few hasty directions were given, and a purse deliver- 
ed to the nurse to use for every requisite to the de- 
ceased, and the doctor drove with every speed to 
Charles's residence. Early that day the corpse was 
removed to tlMs residence of the son, and the inter- 
ment conducted with every attention and respect that 
could be given. Charles remained in his unconscious 
state for several days, ere he was able to understand 
w^hat had taken place. He gradually recovered him- 
self so far as to reason with his friend upon the cir- 
cumstances that had transpired. His mother had 
believed him lost to her forever, after an ineffectual 
effort to discover him, during his absence on his visit 
to the island. She had believed, with truth, the mas- 
sacre of her husband; and arriving in o strange place, 
with her health enfeebled and destroyed by a ship- 
wreck that she had experienced in the vessel in 
which she had departed from the island, she had lin- 
gered ont a miserable end to her existence in the 
most abject poverty and destitution. 
As soon as his recovering energies permitted. 



THE WILL. 



57 



Chatles sought the hove! in which his molhcr had j 
lived, and dealt out the most liberal compensation to ' 
all who had in any way adminieicred to her relief. 
But every where that he sought to bestow his reward j 
be was met with the assurance of the unworlhinesa | 
and undeservedncsii of the recipient, and the confirma- ; 
tion that the good Chri«tian lady had done every 
thing. To see this lady, and to express his feelings 
personally to her, seemed now to be the only object 
of his life, an J the only desire that he fell bcfjre the 
grave. lie had noted licr residence op civvn by the j 
nurse, and he resolved to iftke the earliest opportunity 
of seeing her, ere his own fast ebbing energies should 
ilnd it too late. 

Early in the morning of a subsequent day, the 
carriage was ordered to the door, and Charles, taking i 
the direction from his memoranda, gave his coachman 
tiie address ofiho good Christian lady. In a little 
time, witli all tfio convulsion of feeling that such a , 
situation as he was then placed in could excite, ho | 
was standing in the parlor awaiiing the presence of 
the philanthropist. In a moment, the lady gaily cn^ 
tcred the room, unconscious of the character and busi- 
ness of her visitant As soon, however, as she dis- 
covered she was before a gentleman and a stranger, 
aj if checked by her surprise, her eyelidi fell, and 
she dioppcd a low and graceful obeisance. Some- 
what confused, she took her seat, and modestly asked, 
if there was not some mistake in her answering to his 
call. 

Charles inquired, as well as he could, into her 
identity as the good lady, and being perfectly satisfied 
on this point, he crossed the room, and placing him- 
self before her on his bended knee?, begged the 
privilege of expressing the gratitude of a son, for the 
holy benevolence thai had been bestowed upon a dying 
mother. 

A few words of explanaiion informed the lady of 
all the circumstances of the recognition in the sick 
chamber, and having diHiJently requested that uo 
allusion should again be made to the part she had 
discharged to the poor lady, the benefactress desjred 
an answer from her visitant to one or two questions. 

With great calmness and a placidity of manner 
that transcended all former conception of humanity 
that had entered into the mind of Charles, she a^ked 



of him a few particulars of hi» early separation from 
his family. ** Had he been at former times a resident 
of this city ?" and " whether he had not received a 
professional education here?" To these questions 
Charles gave an affirmative reply. "Then," con- 
tinued she, " perhaps you have some recollections of 
a young lady Ho \Ahom yoii professed some attach* 
mcnt in your early days.'* ^' Yes," replied he, "and 
to whom I plighicd my honor and my love." "Ha^e 
you kept that faith to her?" aeked his fair inquisitor 
"Yes," answered he, •*! believe 1 hnve. I bare 
never forgotten licr — I have never dreamed of loving 
another. Curing a long period of penury, through 
which the vicisbitude of circumstances had passed 
me, I was happy only in my recollection of her; yet 
so altered were my means from those in the possession 
of which I prolfered myself, that I deemed myself 
unacceptable to her, and she discharged from every 
obligation by which she was bound to me." 

*' Ignorant man," exclaimed the good lady, rising 
from her chair as if her whole frame seemed to dilato 
with an awakened pride, " how little did you know 
of the fidelity of woman's heart. Behold your Mar- 
garet — she who plighted her first affections to you, 
and to whom you had returned your pledge for weal 
or wo—see her before you, yet under the sanctity 
of an honorable woman's first pledge — unsweived 
and unchanged through all the lapse of time." 

Charles rose to pi ess her hand, but she withdrew. 
She warned him that their interview had been al- 
ready protracted too long, and that their individual 
conditions, her well inured habits, and his delicate 
health, sinking fast under an undisguised disease, 
debarred the faintest hope of the consummation of 
their early promisee. 

Charles, after a second eflbrt and a second intima- 
tion, similar to that which he met at first, withdrew, 
and sought the strictest retiracy of his home. The 
scenes through which he had passed had operated 
with mnoh severity upon his health, and in a few 
days he took his bed, never again to rise from it At 
his last moments he felt the reb6ke which his doubts 
had placed upon him, in relation to the early idol of 
his-iove, and to the good Christian lady-^to Marga- 
iet*-to his Margaret, he bequeathed the largest por- 
tion of a hand&ome estate. 



Digitized by 



Google 



58 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



THE ANNIVERSARY REGISTER: 

OR, 

MONTHLY CALENDAR OF AMERICAN CHRONOLOGY. 

EXHIBITING 

CORRECT DATES 

OP 

THE BIRTHS AND DEATHS OF EMINENT MEN, 

I.ANO AND SEA FIGHTS, TREATIES, EXTRAOUDIKARY AND MEMORABLE EVENTS, AND 
OTHER MATTERS, CONNECTED WITH THE 

HISTORY OF AMERICA. 



JULY. 



New Jersey divided into East and West Jersey. 

U. S. Schooner Alligitor up-ict by a whirlwind, in Pjri R)yal SounJ» near Charleaton, S. C. 

Two midshipmen and 21 men drowned. 
I'be remnant of Ds Sijio's bani of advonturera sailed fro.-a tho Mia/issippi, on their return 

voyage to Spain. 
Born, at Windham, Conn.. Samuel Huntingdon, Signer of the Declaration of Independence. 
General Washington arrived at Cambridge, Moot, and took command of the American Army, 

consisting of 14,500 men. 
Stalen Island occupied by the British forces, under General Howe. 
The Pre-ident of the Unite J Slates ordered all British ships of war to evacuate tke Amerlcaa 

ports, in consequence of the outrage upon the United States frigate Chesapeake, by the 

British ship of war Leopard. 
American Knibargo expirtd. 

Died, aged 63, Briqrulicr Gcncril Pelcr Gansevonrt, the Ilrroof Fort Stanwix. 
Died, at N.iti'hez, U^^jerl 11. Vlun?, Sena'or of Uaited Stifea. from Mi33i<:^ip;)i. 
The city oi' Qiobec, L C, f)un lei by Simiol Champlain, in behalf of a company of mer- 
chants ai Dieppe and St. Maloes. 
American brig Tyrrel wrecked. T.i<3 cre.v escaped from tho ve^'sel in a boat ; but, with 

one eiceptioa— Purneii, the mite — :hny all died from starvaiim. 
Tho Americans defeated by the Indims and Tories at VVyomin;j and Wilkbarre, Penn. 
Skirmish between Americana and British, near Fort Inde{)endenco, N. Y. 
Captain Djuglas, of the British Navy, threa'e.ied deslract.on to all vessaU leivtng, or bound 

to Norfolk. Va, if he was not allowed to communicate with the English Conaal at that 

port. The MigiaJracy po^^isted in ihi refusal and the Captain departed. 
United States Governmoat occupied We^jt Florida, againit the remonstrance of Great Britain. 
Fort Erie, U. C, surrendered to the Americans. 

Commercial Treaty, bjt.voen Groii Britain ail United Stite? of Amerlci, signed in London. 
United States Congress pai^sed a Bill to rc^-churier the Rank ot the United States. 
Tho Declaration of ihe Indepenlence of the United States of America adopted by Congreis^ 

after it had beon presented to their consideration thirty-nine separate times. 
The Massacre of Wyoming — Vmerican prisoners murdered by the Indians and Tories. 
Constitution of Vermont adopted. 
Grand Federal Procession in Puiladelphia, upon the adoption of the Federal Constitution by 

a majority of the States. 
The Mail Stage commenced running from Philadelphia to Pittsburg, twice a week. 
Died, a;ed 50, at D -dham. Mus , Fi^jhor Ames, a distinguished Siatesman and writer. 
Fort Schlofiser, N. Y., surrendered to the British. ^ 

Skirmish at Street Creek, near Chippewa, U. C, between First Brigade of U. S. Army and 

British advan^^cd guard. 
Tiie Washington Monument, at Baltimore, comm:nced. 
The Erie Canal commenced at Rome, N. Y. 

Diod, aged 83, Thjinas JeiTerson, the third President of the United Slates. 
Died, a^ed 91, John Adims. the second President of tho United Stales. 
Died, ased 73, at New York, James Monroe, the fiHh President of tho United States. 
Tlio Corner Stone of Girard College, Philadelpliia, laid, with appropriate Ceremonies. 
Died, aged 85, at Kennet, Chester county. Pa., John Key. He is suppubcd to bave been the 

first white person born in Philadelphia. 
Constitution of Virginia adopted. ( rsr\(l\(> 

General Howe embarked his troops at New York Cor tho SoulRl^'^'^®^ by VjV^W^IV^ 
DieJ, aged 8*2, Doctor Mather Byles, celebrated Divine.^ Born at Boston. 



Itaj of 


TeAr. 


1 


1676 
1814 


2 


1543 


1. 


173-2 
1775 


— 


1776 

1807 


..^ 


1812 


3 


1830 
1608 


— 


1759 


— 


1778 
1781 
1807 


4 


1811 
1814 
1815 
18.32 
1776 


E 


1778 
1786 
1788 


— 


1804 
1808 
1813 
1814 


— 


1815 
1817 

18-26 


5 


1831 
18.33 
1767 


— 


1776 
1777 

1788 , 



THE ANNIVERSARY REGISTER. 



59 



D«r of 

MOBth. 


Tear. 


5 

T 


1814 
1816 

1607 
1747 


— 


1759 
1775 
1777 


— 


1779 
1781 


7 


1802 
1834 
1835 
1721 
1777 


— 


1779 

1790 

1737 


— 


1799 
1800 
1814 
1817 


^^ 


ISSii 
1833 


8 


1663 
1757 
175.S 
1776 


— 




I 


1777 

1778 
177li 
1780 
1813 



1814 



1818 



9 
10 


1755 
1832 
1749 
1755 
1777 


— 


1780 


— 


1796 
1799 


— 


1812 


11 


1826 
1831 
1832 
1675 


— 


1774 
1782 

1804 



The British defeated by the Americans al the battle of Chippewa, U. C. 

Froet visible at various porta of the United States. 

Kidd, the Pirate, arrested al BofitoD. lie was conveyed to London. England, and executed. 

Born, in Scotland, John Paul Jones, a culcbrated Kavol Comimuider, and the first appointed 

First Lieutenant in the U. S. Navy. 
Born, at Baltimore, Maryland, Joshua Barney, a renowned Naval Officer. 
Congress issued a Manifesto, recitihg causes and necessity of war with England. 
The Americans evacuated Fort Ticonderoga, Skcenesborough, (now Whitehall,) Moaai 

Independence, N. Y., burnt their vessels, and retreated to Fort Edward, N. Y. 
New Haven and East Haven, Conn., plundered by the Bfiii»h under General Tryon. 
General Wayn?, with a small Continental force, suddenly encountered, at James River, the 

whole British Army — 4000 men — all Regulars, in batile array. lie attacked them 

boldly, and instantly retreated. Cornwallis, believing it to be a feint to draw him into 

an ambuscade, refused to pursue. 
Died, at Winchester, Va., Daniel Morgan, celebrated officer in the Revolutionary War. 
Died, George B. Porter, Governor of Michigan Territory. 
The Boston and Worcester Rail R'lad opened to the public. 

Sir William Keith, Governor of Penn, held a Grand Council with the Indians at Conestoga. 
The Americana, under Colonel Warner, defeated by the British at Uubbardlown, Vt. 
U. S. Frigato Hancock captured by Brilidh Squadron of Riinbow, Hora, and Victor. 
Fairfield, Conn., ravaged by tlio Briti.^h, under General Tryon. 

Died, aged 41, in Montgomery county, Pa., I>aac Melrher, distinguished revolutionary officer. 
The Treaties between France and the United Stales declared null and void, in consequence 

of the dcjjredaiions of the French cruisers on the commerce of the U. S. 
Ship Aurora, of Philadelphia, captured by a Ptivaleer off Anger Ftjad. 
William Cobbcti (Peter Porcupine) returned to England from America. 
The British driven by tho Americans from their works at Chippewa, U. C. 
Thomas Monroe, President of the United Slates, visited Cambridge Univeraity, Mass., and 

inaugurated LL D. 
U. S. Tdriff Act passed the Senate by a vote of 32 to 16. 
Died, aged 62, near Florence, Alabama, General J.ihn CuflTee, a diuiinguishcjl officer under 

General Jackson. 
Charles II. graned amplo Letters Patent to the New Colony on Rhode laland. 
Slight Shock of an Ear^hqiakc felt in Now Kugland. 

The Culonisld re])'jl:sed at Ticonderog.i. N. Y , b/ iho French, under General Montcalm, 
riis Doclaralion of the In loj) ^n.Ience of iho Uiii;cJ Stale:* proclairaod from the steps of the 

S:ato H iu.se at Piiil.idelphia. 
The lejJen Kq'iestri.-in Siaiuj of King Geo-ge III. at New York cast into bullets fjr the use 

of the Ruvolulionary Army. 
.Amcricins defeated by ihD Br.iish at F.)rt Anne. U. C. 

The Frencli Fleet, unJcr D'Kitii.is:, up,i«arcd off iha Delaware, having been 87 days at sea. 
Norwalk, Conn., buriif'and plun-lere.! Uy ih-* British, under Gjneral Tryon. 
Born, at Burl.ngtm, N- J , Cairlcs tlvvi.ij,'. Jurist. 
Oulpasis at Fort Gorgo, T. (.'., attarkLd by ihe IruHcns orid the Brititih, who took away 

many prisjner.?, all of wh »rn wore af orvvinU rai».saorc'ii by ihe Indians. 
The Americans siuoeeJod i:i crossing ihe Ciiipp'jwa with their Artillery, and drove the 

British from their post:?. 
Britiih Schooner of War Whitin?. captured by the .\morican Privateer Djish. 
The remains of General Mm'gomjry, nf er rc.iUng 42 years al Quebec, were, by a resolve 

of tho State, brought to ihe ci y of Now Yorii, and d'.'poailed near tiic Monument erected 

to his memory in St- Paul's Church, 
■battle of Monong.ihola Colonists defeated by Franch and Indians. 
Died, a! Detroit, General Oliver Sirong, of R>ohe.Hter, IV. Y. 
Benjirain Franklin app)inted tir^jt Provincinl Grand Master of Pennsylvania. 
Died, in Wosihington's arms. General Braildock. from wounds received at Monongahela. 
British General, Prcscott, captured in his quarters, at Rhode Island, by Colonel Barton, of 

Providence. 
FVench Fleet arrivcil al Rhode Island, with G300 troops, being the firat division of tho French 

Army dev6tcd to the service of tljo United Sialcs. 
Died, at Philadelphia, aged 64. David R>ttudiouse, the celebrated Astronomer. 
\merican Ship Planter, Captain John Watia, beat off a f'rcnch Privateer of 22 ;,'un8, after a run- 
ning fight of two hours and a h.ilf, wherein tl-e lifli€-?(|>:i.s.senger.H) handed tho cartridges. 
Tho British sulijocts in the United Sates ordered to rojiKt thcnuclves to the Marshals of 

their respective D.'slrifts. 
Died, at Nc»v York, oged 62, Lnihcr Mariin, a di.stinguishcd Liwycr and Statesman. 
Died, in Talbi)t county, Maryland, Daniel Mariin^ Governor of tliat State. 
The Bank of the United S.'ates Bill V( locd by GcnoMl Jackfon, the President of the U. S. 
Edmund Aiidros, Governor of N.-w York, am mpled the caj'ture of Fort It'aybrook, in Con- 
necticut, in support of the cl.r.ra i>f the Dake of York to all land between the Hudson 

and the Connecticut, but was conipcllcd lo rctirp. 
Died, at Johnston, N. Y., aged 59, Sir Wm. Jjlin-on, the celebrated In Jinn agent and Governor. 
S'lvannah, Georgia, evacuated by the Briti.sh. Digitized by VjOOQ 

Duel between A iron Burr and Alexander Ilimiltjn; the latter was mortally wounded, and 

died next day. 



60 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



Wreck of the Ship Cornclii, of Philadelphia. Crew BQveil. 

U. S. Friga!e E.sscx c.ipttircd a British transport, wlih a detachment of the 1st regiment of 

Royal Scois ab(.ari). 
Rkinniah at Bltick lljcU, N. Y. Tho barracks, block house, &c. destroyed by the British. 
The Fort at Eaatport, Mcojo ^^]and, surrendercJ to the British, who were enabled by this 

capture to secure every island in Pafy«amaq noddy Bay. 
U. S. Brig Rattlesnake captured by Brififeh Ship Lcandor. Tho Ratttlesnake had previously 

thrown over all licr guns but two to escape from a British Frigate. 
Stcomboat \'esuvius eniireiy rontumed near Nev\ Orleans. Cargo valued at 200,000 dollars. 
The British difbr\!cd in a Skirmthh at Williamson's plantation by the Americans under 

Sunifcr — the comiiicncenienl of the partisan war in the Souih. 
Killed, while recoimoilcring at Qicenston Heights, U. C, Brigadier-General John Swift. 
Died, at Baliimurc, aged 77, Samuel Stcrrclt, Member of Congress from Baltimore. 
The first Colonists landed onAVocuken Island, on iho coast of Ndrth Carolina. 
Great Convention at Alhany, x\. Y., betweon the Indian Five Nations and the Govomon of 

New York antl Virgini.i. 
Died, aged 78. Stephen Hopkins, one of the Signers of tho Declaration of Independence and 

Governor of Rhode IbUind. 
The Anaconda, a New York Lo'ter of Marque, and Alias, a Philadelphia Privateer, captured 

by a British Squadron, which also plundered tlie towns of Portsmouth andOcracoke,N.C. 
Ten States having given in their acce&sion to the Federal ConstiiutioUi it was this day rati- 
fied by Congrrss. 
Captain Barney 'b Slii]) Samson captured by three Privateers, but in three days he retook his 

ovafty^tuUtouk his captors prisoners into Baltimore. 
Fourteen sail of F>ench Ships, laden with provisions, captured by British Squadron, nnder 

Admiral Murray, off the American coast. 
"The Gag Law," or Bill for Punishment of Sedition against the U. S. passed by Congresi. 
U. S/Schooner Asp capitired by five British Barges in Kinsale Creek, near Yecomioo River, 

but was retaken by tho Miliiia in the course of the day. 
Treaty of Commerce and Navigation between Sweden and Norway, and the United Statei, 

feigned by Comniis-vioners at Stockholm. 
The Tariff Act received the npproval of the President. 

Tho British Fort at Pem quid, Now Knghind, destroyed by the French and Indians. 
Britinh Ships of War, Pl.o: lix and Roite, with two tenders, effeclcd a passage up tho Hudson 

under a lieavy cannonade from the various Batteries. 
Great Fire at Charlcs'on, S. C— 200 houses do>troyed. 
Stony Point, N. Y, rLUikcn from the British and dismantled. 
Verplanck's Point, N Y., unpucceisfuily attacked by the Americans. 
Lafayette appointed Comraonder-ir.-Chief of the National Guard at Paris. 
U. S. Brig Naoiiltis captured by a British Squadron. 
1 he first Steam V'lssel from .America arrived in England. 
Bom, at Alb my, N. Y., Pcier Ganscvcort, a distinguished Revolutionary General, and the 

Hero of Fort Stanwix. 
The General Court of M.issachuseits prorogued by Governor Barnard, having refuied to 

mako provision for the support of the British troops. 
Treaty of Peace signed between M irocco and United States. 

5ied, ot Baltimore, aged 46, Otho Holland Williams, a distinguished Revolutionary Officer. 
Commencement of the \Ve^tcrn Insurrection. Tho Pennsylvania lasurgAitB took General 

Nevil and Major Nich'ila prisoners. 
Americans, under Colonel Ca<8. defeated the British and Indians near Maiden, U. C. 
Corner Stone of the University of Now York laid. 

Born, at Essex, Mas-)., Elhridgo Gerry, one of the Signers of tho Declaration of Independence. 
Born, at Salem, Mass., Timoihy Pickering, a Revolutionary Patriot 
Micbiliimackinac taken by the Brlti&h. 

American Privateer Schooner Dolphin, captured a British Ship ofl4 guns. 
U. S. Frigate Consiitnlion fell in with a British Squadron, coniiisting of one 74, four Frigates, 

a Brig and a Schooner,- but escaped by tho masterly seamanship of Captain Hull. 
British and Indians repuhed in an attack on Fort George, U. C. 

[ndi.ni destroyed a village on Oysier River, N. II. — nearly 100 persons killed or captured. 
Fort Johnson, on Capo Fear Rive;, burnt by the Americans, under Colonel Ashe. 
Died, from Dropsy, at Pari^, aged 45. John Paul Jones, the celebrated Naval Commander. 
A parly of America n.^?, under Colonel Sionc, drove tho British from the village of St. David, 

which was burnt. This act, bein^ against general orders, Colonel Stone was directed 

10 retire from tho Army of tho United States. 
Treaty signed between the United States and the Potawattomies on the Illinois. 
Died, aged 76, l:*aac Shelby, a celebrated Revolutionary OflScer. 
The British Garrison, at Paulas Hook, surprised by the Americans, imder Msjor Lee — 30 

killed and 160 captured. 
American vessels forbidden, by the King of Prussia, to enter the Forts of that Country. 
American Privateer General Armstrong, captured oflf Sandy Hook tho British Sloop Hen> 

rietta, with stores for British fioet. 
Died, at Duxbury, Mass., aged 67, Rev. John Allyn, D. D. 

Rail Road between Baltimore and Philadelphia, via Havre de Grace, opened to the public 
Religious Independence established in Massachuseils. 



Day of 
Month. 


Year. 


10 


1804 
1812 


— 


1813 
1814 


12 


1916 
1780 


13 


1814 
1833 

1584 
1684 


— 


1785 


— 


1813 


14 


1788 


— 


1793 


— 


1794 




1798 
1813 




1827 


15 


1832 
173.9 
1776 


..^ 


1778 
1779 


16 


1789 
1812 
1819 
1749 


— 


1769 


— 


1786 
1794 


17 


1812 
1833 
1744 
1745 

1812 


— 




18 


1813 
1694 
1775 

1792 
1814 


19 


1815 

1826 
1779 


— 


1810 
1814 


20 


1833 
1837 
1629 



THE ANNIVEBSART RBGISTEft. 



61 



Dqrof 

MoWb. 


Toar. 


._. 


.^— — 


__ 


1780 


.^ 


1802 





1833 


31 


1667 




1837 


22 


1620 


_ 


1814 


.^ 


1833 


23 


1691 




1779 


_ 


1780 


_ 


1793 


^. 


1635 


24 


1621 



25 



General Wayne repulsed by the Britisii in attacking a block houae in New Jersey. 

Louisiana ceded to France. 

Died, at Belie Ytlle, II., Niaian Edwards, late Governor of IlHnoia. 

Treaty, of Breda, by which New York was exchanged for Surinam. 

Great Fire at Albany, N Y. 

First Embarkation of the Pilgrim Faiben from Delflhaven, in two vessels, the Speedwell and 

May Flower — the first of which was afterwards abandoned at Plymouth, England. 
Died, in Philadelphia, aged 53, Michael Egan, the first Roman Catholic Bishop of Pennsylvania^ 
Died, at Nashville, Tenn., Jesse Wheaton, formerly Member of Congreas fi^m Tennessee. 
Died, Colonel Henry Slaughter, Governor of New York. 
Brant, with some Indians and Tories, burnt Miaesink, N. Y^ and killed and captured a larga 

number of the inhabitants. 
The Tories defeated by the American Militia, tinder Colonel Lock, in North Carolina. 
Died, aged 72, Roger Sherman, ene of the Signers of the Dechtration of independence. 
Died, of Cholera, in Rutherford county, Tenn., General William Brady. 
Ordinance granted in London, soitctioning the Colonial Assembly established in Virginia— 

the Model on which the Political Systeips of the other Colonies were founded. 
Battle of Niagara. Sir William Johnson repulsed the French and Indians. The Fort sur* 

rendered the noxt day. 
Some Americans attempted to blow up the British 74 Gun Ship Plantagsnet with a Torpedo 

in Lynnbaven Bay. The vessel was much injured, although the plan failed. 
The Americans evacuated Queensiown, U. C, which was immediately occupied by the Britidi. 
The Government of New England declared War against the Indians. 
Born, at Boston, Henry Koox, Major Genaral'in Revolutionary Army of U. S. 
The Americans defeated af Penobscot, Maine. 
Battle of Skiddaway Iiiland, Georgia. 

The State of Now York oJopted the Federal Constitution, being the 11th State in succesaioii. 
Died, at Elizabethtown, N. J., aged 67. William Livingston, First Federal Governor of N. Jersey: 
Battle ofvBridgowater, or second Battle of Chippewa, or Battle of Niagara Falls, or Lundy'a 

Line. The British defeated by the Americaos, under General Jacob Biown. ' This 

waa one of the severest battles of the war. 
Died, in Boston, aged 62, Isaac Parker, Chief Justice of Supreme Court of Massachusetta. 
Born, in Ulster county, N. Y., George Clinton, Governor of New York and V. P. of U. Statet. 
Ticonderoga Fort, N. Y., takea by the" English Colonists. 

General Post Oifice, from Falmouth, N. Y. to Savannah, Georgia, first established by Con- 
gress. Benjamin Franklin appointed Post Master. 
A Pf tnting OfHce destroyed by the Mob in New York, because its owner (Greenleaf) opposed 

the Federal Constitutioa. 
Li^yette, during the Revolution at Paris, added the white division of the JRoyal Emblems to 

the red and blue Cockade worn by the Soldiery as the Colors of the city of Parii» and 

established the tri-color. 
Bridgewater Mills, Bridge, and Barracks, burnt by the Americans. 
Sudden Rise of Otter Creek. Vermont, from heavy rains. Fourteen persons drowned, and 

towns of Middlebury, New Haven, and Lincoln, much damaged. 
The Regicide Generals Gofife and Whalley landed at Beaton, after their flight from England. 
Islands of Cape Breton and St John surrendered by the French to the Engliab and AnehcaoSi 
A Hospital for 20,000 men established by Congress. 
Bora, at Philadelphia. Thomas Say, a celebrated Natural Philosopher. 
Federal Riots at Baltimore, Maryland, wherein General Ltagan and others lost their lives.' 
Died, at Philadelphia, aged 60, William Baiiibridge, a distinguished Commander in U. S. Navy. 
Born, in Philadelphia, Charles Stewart, Commodore in U. S. Navy. 
Penobscot, Maine, nnsucceasfully attacked by Massachusetts Militia. 
Mutiny aboard the Schooner Plattsbiirg, of Baltimore. The Master, Mata, and Supercargo 

murdered ,and the crew divided 42,000 dollars, ailer running her into a Poet in Norway. 
Died, aged 74, William Wilberforce, the celebrated English Abolitionist. 
Assumption of the States' Debts by the Congress of the United Stales. 
Ship Elizabeth Gardner, of Philadelphia, wrecked near Ocrecoke Bar, N. C. 
Action between U. S. Gun Boats and British Sloop of War Martin, in Delaware Bay. 
Died, at Harrowgate, England, aged 65, J. S. J. Gardiner, D. D., of Boston. 
Died, at Rushcomb, near Twyford, Butekinghamshire, England, aged 74, William Peon. 
First Masonic Lodge held in America. 

Died, in Philadelphia, aged 63, Major General William Trvin«, disUnguished Rev. Officer. 
Action between U. & Brig Julia and British Ships Earl Moira and Buke of Gloucester, off 

the mouth of the St. Lawrence. 
Died, at Jersey City, aged 79, Colonel Richard Vorick, President of American Bible Society. 
Died, at New Brunswick, N. J., aged 69, John Croes, D. D., Bishop of the Protestant Epia- 

copal Church of New Jersey. 
Anti- Abolition Mob at Cincinnati destroyed the Press of Mr. Bimey, editor oT Ui# FhiUnfiuo* 

pist, and committed other Outrages. 
Lafayette appointed by Congress Major General in service' of the United States. 
The coiMge of Gold fint commenced in the U. Su Mint at PhaUdelphia. ( r%n(l](> 
Piattsbnrg. N. Y.. captured andplnndewd by the Briiiah. "^ ^^ Vj*^ w^ i^ 

York, (now Toronto,) U. C, capered and plondtred by the j 
Large Fire at Fredericksburg, Virginia. 



87 



% 



30 



31 



1759 

1813 

1814 
1723 
1750 
1779 
1782 
1788 
1790 
1814 



1830 
1730 
1758 
1775 

1788 

lfd9 



1814 
1830 

1660 
1758 
1775 
1787 
1813 
1833 
1778 
1779 
1816 

1833 
1790 
1811 
1813 
1830 
1718 
1733 
1804 
1812 

1831 
1832 

1836 

1777 
1795 
181S 

1816 



^mm S'iKO &ii(o^ 

A iVEw comic soiv«. 



WRITTEN BY THOMAS H. BAYLEY ESQ. 

COMPOSED BT J. BLIWITT. 



o 

ft) 

o 







^ 



sp^^sm^Ma^^ 




ii^ 



-PEEE 



PEI 



£^•3 




^^Wi^^P^"^ 



^^ ^^^ j^jj^gp^ppg-g 



A PieNic! a Pic Nic! so )u>PP7 together! In - teI-U*gent women! a- 



^^^^^^^^ 



/ 

la fin — , !^ 



^^^ ^ 



^i^ 



i=?a 



-9- -9- 



^^^^^^^^^mw^- 



gree-a-ble men! The middle of June, s« we mutt hare fine weather, Well go upon poniei to 



^^^^p^^^ 



•^il^E^g^ 







m 



^^^^^pp i ^^ 



I 



EES 



% 



i^! 



1^1 



^^l^l^^^^^^p^P 



an they uraoge. A pie nic! a pic nic ! so 



pleasact to - - ge - - thcr, lo 



^^m 



m 



^ 



E^5s: 



^^ 



Pi^i 



^P=«^ 



:s- 



^ 



rprzi 



EsE^ 



I 



f 




^S^^ 



•^^•- 



pleaiimt, so pleasant to - - ge - • ther. 




;=^ 






t 




^-<,-.r;^ 



^Pra 



ShEieieE. 




^g^g 



^E 



^ 



i 



=|!^ 



-p V 



i-n^r^**^^ 








- ^- Jl'^ -t— s- i- 1- 'I I 1.^ 



Ol&X these vrords at nlfl^ht ^rere tkc very lant spoken^ 

The first In the morning ivere equally gay. 
There Is a great mlst^ ^rhloh we knoMr is a token^ 

At noon -we shall have a most exquisite day* 
The ponies arrive^ and the soeiahles meant for 

The matrons^ nnlltted for side-saddle feats | 
The haskcts of prog^ and I he hampers are sent fori 

And packed in the dearborn^ and under the seats* 
A pic nic I a pie nie X 4b«* 

And no-w vre are oif^ all the carriages quite full! 

Do look at Miss 8y mons, how oddly she sits f 
Ho sun to annoy us, it^s really deUghtftel 1 

Dont mind Hrsft IVatkins, she says that it spite* 
iSome peopte take pleasure, in throwing cold "water 

On parties of pleasure, and talking of damp 1 ,^-^ , 

She's Just the ill-natnrM old woman I thought 1&«^00QLC 

WoHl laugh at her presently w^hen ^we eneaaap* p 

A pie nic S » pie nie S Ate* 



Mf pMir« fi^ 0ftM»pteg f ^s^MkfW A thistle, 

IV** -rery wfmx thrv-vrlAfl^ dm •vcr KI0 b«*dS 
iHmx me X I do thlAlc It's bestniUAff to drlxslet 

OliX let US take shelter In yonder old shed* 
H«w fooHsh to imt on my white s*tin boanet*M 

I entry Miss Martin, for she's in the straw I 
Sly lilae pelisse, too, the water drips -on lt« 

Tlie prettiest lilae that ever I saw S 
A pic nic I a pie nio X d&e* 

For my part, I own, I llhe this sort of morning. 

With tJUk perpendienlar what conld we dot 
So pleasant to And the dust laid when retnrAin|^| 

'TWill elear up at twelve, or, at latest, at two« 
And now we're at Bogf^lemyX dear, how uniuelcyt 

I'm Kwa^ I heard something like thunder. Just theni 
The place is so gloomy, the path is so muclcy, 

I scarce can belieT-e we're at Bof^glemy (lenX 
A pic nieX a pic nicX Ac* 

We cannot dine under the trees, It would hill us« 

"We'll try to tahe shelter In yonder retreat 9 
Oh dear. It's a dirty old cow-house, 'twill hiU uS, 

If all mugt crowd into it, thinh of the KeatS 
A soup plate, Inverted, JHIss MlUington uses. 

To heep her thin slippers above the wet day} 
OhX see thro' the roof how the raln«water oozes, 

The dinner will all taste of dripping tOiklayX 
A pie ule I a pic nie X 4&c« 

A pic<nicX a pic nlcX so wretched together, 

All dragglc-tall'd ^ivomen, and cross*looklng nieilX 
The middle of June, yet this terrible weather 

Has made a morass of sweet Boggle my glen I 
It rains Just like buckets of water, fall measure f 

There Is not the slightest appearance of change \ 
'Tw^as very absurd to expect a day's pleasure, 

Vtrw people can realise all they arrange* 
A pic nic X a pic nic I 4tc* 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS 



JANE I/)MAX; oa, A MOTHER'S CRIME. By the Author of Brambletye Howe. 7W Vdam$. 

" Carey, Lea,4Uicl Blonchard. 

This is a capital novel for summer reading, with a lively euccesBion of exciting incidents, and but little 
development of character. The heroine ia a Lady Macbeth in humble life, who peiauadca her weak-minded 
huaband to assist her in substituting a fraudulent will for the real instrument, and in getting the devisee te 
sign it. This scene is well written. The consequent eflecis of the uneasy consciences of the man and wift 
are feelingly depicted, and afford material for several excellent chaptere. 

Horace Smith, the author, in his preface, assetts that in placing ihe scene of his tale in the skirts of London, 
and in selecting his characteni from the lower grades of life, he labors under the disadvantage of com- 
bating long established associations, and therefore, makes an especial appeal to the indulgence of the reader. 
He instances the universality of fashionable noveh and talea of high life ; and, while adducing the Germans 
and the French as the only writers who have produced novels exclusively illustrative of the manners of the 
people, laments that the English auihors should imagine the middling and lower classes unclassical in their 
natures and abodes, and deficient in available materials to the novelist Mr. Smith has made a singular 
mistake in overlooking the writings of Smollet and Fielding, whose works are expressly devoted to the ex- 
emplification of the tower orders of society j he has forgotten Miss Mitford and her exquisite rural tales; Miss 
Edgeworth, Mrs. Hall, and the Hewitts ; Theodore Hook, whose Jack Brag n unequalled in the pictureequflf 
M of its cockneyism, and the inimitable Box, who devotes the powers of his magic pen to the sole use 
of the every day-people of every-day life. 

The mawkish nothingnesses of the fashionable world are now pretty weU exploded; the younger D'UraeU 
has much to answer, in creating such a haec of eopyista; but (he tOem displiTed in his Vivian Grey, die fliit 
"wiuonaWe novel, has never been equalled, either by ynself er Ui Ibllowin. The west end of London 



&EVIBW OF NBW BOOKS. 65 

hm btea rafiieienllf well gleaned ; and wo rejoice thereat The noval writeri mnt now perforea aYoki the 
pirki and aquares, and deal in other articles than Almacks, young dukes, foreign counts, anbaMadon, 
and dowager duchesses. We trust that tales of high life- and nautical novels have gone to their abiding 
ptece with the blue fire romances of tha Ratclifle school. The English novels of the present month^-JAMX 
LoHAZ, the RoBBES, and the SauuE, are delineations of men and manners, which, to use our author's words 
"cone mare immediately homo to our busiaess and our bosoms, because the characters are taken irom i 
the less aieyated claasoi of society." 



, ITALY. Br am American. Two Vdumet. Carey, Lea, and Blanchard. 

These voliiaes, we believe, complete Mr. Cooper's ** Gleanings in Europe"— a series of publicationa which 
will conduce but little to Mr. Cooper's reputation as a writer or a man. He is too general in his deductions, ' 
end too selfish in worldly interooorse, to afford a fair report of the commonplaces of European life. In the 
details of fiction, Mr. Cooper has justly earned an undying name; in depicting the cold realities of the world, 
be has suffered his prejudices to master his reason, and unwittingly distorts a casual triviality into an intended 
act of serious offence. It presents a strange anomaly in the formation of the human mind that a man poi^ y 
aesBing snfHcient mental capacity to originate the splendid creations of fancy known throughout both hemi- 
spheres as the Cooper Novels, should be unable to report an actual fact of common occurrence, without 
bestowing a tortuous inclination to the po^t at issue, or persistiRg in a weak and ridiculous opposition to the 
certain nature of the case. In the volumes before us, he gives an account of a medley song performed 
by some English amateurs in Italy. The subject matter of the song ran upon the peculiarities of all countries; 
imitations were attempted, and the laughter of the audience provoked* The Americans, cf course, came in 
for their share ; various western hyperboles were cited, and the audienco laughed louder at the "Yankee 
veise" than at any other. From the tone of Mr. Cooper's remarks upon this every-day affair, he undoubtedly 
OMisidefB that the President of the United States ought to have declared war againit England Ibr presuming 
to laugh at funniments of our own creation. 

The book on " Italy," our present subject, is undoubtedly the best of the series of " Gleanings in Europe." 
There is less of the burning malignity of comparison and more of the bmhommie of the enlightened traveller 
in the remarks adjunctive to the descriptions. Mr. Cooper has added nothing new to our knowledge of the 
countries of his travel, nor has he bestowed much piflnib upon the composition of his remarks. The book is an 
agreeable trifle in its way, but it is not the way wherein Mr. Cooper excels ; and we look somewhat im- 
patiently ibr the appearance of his new nantical work, *< Homeward Boand." , 

The following extract gives one n good idea of the hnmbug of king craft. We commend the anecdote to 
the multitude of public scribes who are daUy discovering such wonderful traits in the young Queen of Eng- 
land, Victoria — a lady, by the way, whose actions seem to exorcise a strange inflaence over the imaginations 
of several of our republican editors. 

Ton will renenber that when King Louis abdicated the throne of Holland, it was in favor of this veiy 
son, who WW a titular monarch for the few days that intervened between the retirement of his father and 
the incorporation of the country with France. Though a mere boy, he was condemned to listen to many ■ 
congratulatory addresses on his accession, his whole reign being distCoguIshed by little else. One morning he 
was required to receive a deputation, jast as he had prepared to discuss a quantity of bonhonSt on which he 
had set his heart, and of which he was partieularly fond. While the courtier was dwelling on the virtuoa 
of the retired monarch, the weight of his loss (that of the bonbons) oppressed him even to tears ; and " you 
^li judge of my surprise," he added, laughing, " at hearing all the courtiers bursting out in exclamations of 
delight al Oie excellence of my heart, when I expected nothing better than a severe rebuke for my babyism!" 
This, he said good-hum^rodly, was tha first of his masquerades. 

The love of country and belief in the moral and physical supremacy of our countrymen is an universal ^ 
disease. A Yankee cow boy believes that one American can whip two Englishmen; a British soldier or 
lailor will always undertake to lick three Frenchmen ; and here we have a continuation of the same harm- 
less biaggadocia. 

I took my place accordingly as far as Genoa, and we left Florence just as the sun was setting, with onr 
lamps lighted. As we drove tliroogh the gale of Pisa, I observed a dragoon dashing along, on each side of 
us, and was then told that firequent robberies had rendered this escort necessary, until we got out of Lucca. ' 
There was a contadino inside, a respectable farmer, who was going a post or two down the Arno, and his 
ofe glistened with delight as he regarded the dragoons. '* Those are the boys, s|gnore," he observed to me. 
"Mineleefi of them put five hundred Neapolitans to flight here during the late wars." I wonder if there be 
s Faople on the globe that does not think Itself the salt of the earth ! Near Salins hist year, as we approached 
Switzerlaod, the postilion gravely pointed t^ a fort, which he afiirmed had surrendered to fiveand-twen^ 
French, though garrisoned by two hundred Austrians. One can hear of each prodigies any where, lfaou(pi 
they are obatinately uncommon in pnctioe, "even Providence," as Frederick expreased it, "being ato«Uf 
on the aide of atroDg batt^Uona." 



66 THE gentleman's magazine. 

The foUowisg uogular Doncoroparuon between the Bay of Naplei and the Bay of New York muat fiaiab 
our extracts.^ 

As the day opened, and ^e advanced farther into this glorious bay, we could not help exclaiming, " What 
dunce first thought of instituting a comparieon between the bay of New York and this?" ]t is scarcely pos- 
sible for two things composed of the sanie elements to be less alike, in the first place ; nor are their excel- 
lencies the same in a single essential point. The harbor of New York is barely pretty ; there being, within 
ny own knowledge, seme filly ports that equal, or surpass it,«ven in beauty. These may not be in Eng- 
land, a country in which we seek every standard of excellence ; but the Mediterranean alone is full of them. 
No one^ would think of applying the term pretty, or even handsome, to the Bay of Naples ; it has glorious and 
sublime scenery, embelli&hrd by a bewitching soAness. Neither the water nor the land is the same. In 
New York the water is turbid and of a dullish green color, for in its purer momenta, it is, at th^beat, of the 
greenish hue of the entire American coast ; while that of the Bay of Naples has the cerulean mit and lim- 
pidity of the ocean. At New York, the land, low and tame, in its best months ofifers nothing but the verdure 
and foliage of spring and summer, while the ccaat of this gulf, or bay, are thrown into the peaks and faces of 
grand mountains, with the purple and rose- colored tints of a pore atmosphere and a low latitude. If New 
York does possess a sort of back-grcund cf rocks, in the Palisadoes, which vary in height from three to 
five hundred feet, Naples has a natural wall, in the rear of the Campania Felice, among the Apennines, of 
almost as many thousands. This is speaking only of nature. As regards artificial accessaries, to say nothing 
of recollections, the shores of this bay are teeming with them of every kind; not Grecian monstrosities, and 
Gothic absurdities in wcod, but palaces, villas, gardens, towers, castles, cities, villages, churches, convents 
and hamlets, crowded in a way to leave no point fit for the eye unoccupied, no picturesque site unimproved. 
On the subject of the scale on .which these things are done, I will only say, that we tacked the felucca, in 
beating up to the town, under the empty windcvis of a ruined palace, whose very base is laved by the wa- 
ter, and whose stones would more than build all the public works on the shores of our own harbor, united. 

The public mind in America has got to be so sickly on such subjects, that men shrink from telling the 
truth; and many of our people not only render themselves, but some render the nation, ridiculous, by the 
inflated follies to which they give utterance. 1 can safely say» I never have seen any twenty miles square of 
Lower Italy, if the marehcs and can.pagnes be excepted, in which there i^ not more glorious scenery than I 
can recall in all those parts of America Wiih which 1 am acquainted. Our lakes will scarcely bear any com- 
parison with the finer lakes of Upper Italy; our mountains are insipid as compared with these, both as to hues 
and forms ; and our seas and bays are r.ot to be named with these. If it be patriotism to deem all our geese 
swans, I am no patriot, nor ever was ; for, of all species of sentiments, it strikes me that your " property patri- 
otism" IB the most unequivocal. 



SKETCHES. By Boz. Parts I II. and JU. IllustratcS by George Cruikshanh Carey, Lea, and Blanehard. 

OLIVER TWIST; or, THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS. By the Author of the Pickwick Papers. 
With Plaits by Cruikshanh. Part XL Carey, Lea, and Blanehard. 

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. Edited by Boz. With Plates by Phiz. 

Part II. Carey, Lea, and Blanehard. 

The republication of Mr. Dickens* admirable "Sketches of Every-Day Life and E very-Day People," with 
transcripts of George Cruikshank^s inimitable designs, is a matter of congratulation to the lovers of genuine 
humor. These Sketches were the foundation of his wonderful but well-deserved popularity ; and his powers 
of description and keen perception of the ludicrous in the common places of life, have clothed a variety of 
well-used topics in a garb of novelty and acceptable delight. When the volume is completed, it will make a 
necessary companion to the same publishers* edition of the Pickwick Papers. 

Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickledt, although very dissimilar personages, are alike excellent. The 
description of the Yorkshire cheap school in the latter wH)rk is one of the most peculiar things ever penned. 
" Boz*' stands pre-eminent not only among the writers of the present day, bat ** unapproachable and alone," 
in hia own admirable and graphic way, in the long, proud list of English delineators of men and manners. 



THE DESERTED BRIDE; AND OTHER POEMS. By George P. Morris. Adlanl and Saunders. 

We have a horror of a pretty looking nicely bound thin octavo book of Poems ; we have seen thousands 
of them, with their silk backs, gold edges, white paper with bold type and large margin ; we can repeat th« 
essence of the preface witltout opening the book; there is an account of the author*8 unwillingness to trouble 
the world (!) with his work^-but his friends insisted — (his mother and a maiden aunt—the latter taking 
two copies) — careless of criticism — sneaking deprecation — threat of another infliction-^and with a poetical 
quotation. We remember a chuckle-headed fellow from the other side of the Atlantic, who brought over 
aome fiAy copies of his " Poems," printed and bound as above. He poked his jingle into you. with a perse- 
verance truly Scottish; you were compelled to hear him. praise his poetry, and eulogize the mechanical eze- 
cptlQn of his book— and yet he was but a type of his class. 



REVIEW Sf new books. 



67 



The work before oi is the exception to the rule ; the preface plainlf states the fact that as the poems have 
hsen well received in fragmental shape, they cannot be unacceptable in a volume. • The reader will find 
nany old Avoritee in the pages of ibis elegantly printed tome ; words, belonging to some of the sweetest airs 
of the day—" stealing and giving odor" in the connection. We believe that General Morris has written mora 
popolar " words tot music" than any other poet of the day ; and the composers are aware of the value of his 



Criticism is useless upon the poems before us; they ara well known, and the public has long been intimate 
with their beauties. Indeed, so popular are the subjects, and so uniTorsal are their appearances, that we 
have twice turned over the pages without being able to select a quotation to our satisftiction. The following 
piece is not the best, but it is one of the least known. 



FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM. 

They cone I — Be firm — in silence rally ! 

The long-knives our retreat have found ! 
Hark ! — their tramp is in the valley, 

And they hem the forest round ! 
The burthened boughs with pale scouts quiver* 

The echoing hills tumultuous ring. 
While across the eddying river 

Their barks, like foaming war^steeds, spring f 
The blood-hounds darken lend and water. 
They come-*like buffaloes for slaughter! 

See their glittering files advancing. 
See upon the free winds dancing 

Pennon proud and gaudy plume : 
The strangers pome fn evil hour. 
In pomp and panoply and power. 
To plant a weed where bloomed a flower. 
Where sunshine broke to spread a shower. 
And, while upon our tribes they lower, 
Think they our manly hearts will cower, 

To meet a warrior's doom ? 

Sight they forget while strength they feel ; 
Our blood they drain, our land they steal ; 
And should the vanquished Indian kneel. 

They spurn him from their sight ! 
Be set for ever in disgrace. 
The glory of the red man's race, 
If from the foe we turn our face. 

Or safety seek in flight ! 

They come ! — up and upon them, braves ! 
Fight for your altars and your graves ! 
Drive back the stern, invading slaves. 

In fight till now victorious! 
Like lightning from siorm-cloods on high. 
The hurtling death-wingd arrows fly. 
And wind-rows of pale warriors die !— 
Oh ! never has the sun's bright eye 
Looked from his hill-tops in the sky, 

Upon a field so glorious ! 



They're gone — again the red men rally. 

With dance and song the woods resound .- 
The hatchet's buried in the valley ; 

No foe profanes our hunting-ground ! 
The green leaves-on the blithe boughs quiver , 

The verdant hills with song-birds ring, 
While our bark- canoes, the river 

Skim like swallows on the wing. 
Mirth pervades the land and water, 
Free from famine, sword, and slaughter ! 



Let us, by Jhis'gentle river, 
Blunt the axe and break the quiver. 
While, as leaves upon the spray, 
Peaceful flow our cares away ! 



Yet, alas! the hour is brief. 
Left for either joy or grief! 
All on earth that we inherit 
From the hands of the Great Spirit, 
Wigwam, hill, plain, lake, and field. 
To the white man must we yield; 
For, like sun-down on the waves, 
We are sinking to our graves ! 

From this wilderness of wo 
Like a caravan we go, 
Leaving all our groves and streams 
For the far-off land of dreams. 
There are prairies, waving high. 
Boundless as the sheeted sky, . 
Where our fathers' spirits roam, 
And the red man has a home. 
Let tradition tell our story 
As we fade in cloudless glory, ^ 
As we seek the land of rest 
Beyond the borders of the west, 
1(0 eye but ours may look upon — 
We are the children or the sun. 



THE HOUSEKEEPER'S BOOK ; comprising Advice on the Conduct of Household Affairs in general; and 
parliadar Directions for the Preservation of Furniture, Bedding, ^c; for the laying in and preserving qf 
Provisions ; with a complete Collection qf Receipts for economical Domestic Cookery. The whole cartfuUy 
arranged for the use of American Housekeepers. By a Ladt. Marshall and Co. 

The opening chapters of this unpretending duodecimo are of a nature eitremely valuable to the economist 
and the lover of domestic comfort For the rest— the dissertations upon Boiling. Broiling, Roasting, and 
Frying, and other culinary customs, with the many explicit receipts for plain and pretty dishes, we profeas 
our ignwance of their merits. We thoienghly understand the arcana of table cookery; we can mix a lobster 
or chicken salad with chemical nicety and never failing success; we know how to friazle the side of a <»n- 
vasB-back, the dice of a mountaineer, or a doaen of unctuosiiies from Morris Cove, in a chafing-dish, with 
the leqnisite number of bubbles and proper apportionment of condiments; we profess to be learned in the 



68 THE OBNTLBMAN'0 hagazike. 

diniDg*ioom— iadecd, our cApabtlity oyer the chrth wna never qaeitioiied—- but we andeittuid not the pne- 
tiCftl mytteriee of the cuirinet and yet we haye boiled our kettle at a pie Die, and planked a abad at a fldiing 
party. We do not, therefore, etieem ounelyca capable of inditing a aomd and honeit criticiam upon the 
major portion of this yaluable book— but, alivck with the honeaty and aound aenee of the pveacriptiona, we 
handed the yolarae to our feminine partner, and required her opinion of its merite. The reault ia aatiafaoiory ; 
The Housekeepefa Book ia pronounced the beat and most complete of its kind, and particularly adapted to 
the nee of the American houaewife, which ia more than can be aaid lor many of its compeera. 

Armed with thia indisputable authority, we reoornmeod our clients to furnish their ladies with The Houae- 
keeper'a Book, and to requeat them to abide by ita dicta in the regulation of their eatablishmeota. 



THE SQUIRE. By the Author of the Heireaa, Agnes Searle, &c. Two Volumes, Carey and HarU 

A spirited " auld world" tale, full of racy descriptions and excitiog adventures. Philip Conyers stands be- 
tween " tho fine old English genileman of the olden time," and the neatly^iressed rod-coated squirearchy of 
the present day ; he represents a race which haa almost evanished from the hill sides of merry England ; like 
their own turreted manor houses and Elizabethian halls, they are fading away before creations of modem 
dale — white faced structures of prettlbpss and pride. The law of primogeniture, as connected with the 
landed proprietary in EDgUnd, has assisted materially to preserve tho bluff independence of the national 
character,' the small yeoman with his freehold of forty shillings, envied not the baronial hereditament of his 
noble neighbor ; and tho representative of the old family at the manor house, hunted over his own grounds, 
feasted his tenants and his friends, and like a thorough-bred English Sqaire, had a hand a piece for the lord 
and tho laborer. But a great revolution has been silently spreading over the green fields and smiling vallies 
of our mother land ; the squirearchy have been compelled to resign their importance to the parvenu preten- 
sions of speculators, monopolists, and newly-titled adventurers from the metropolis. The small farma are 
blended into one immense holding, to suit the gigantic schemes of some visionary ^igricultnralist; the pic- 
turesque dwellings and cheerful families of the peasantry and the humble farmer are swept from the face of 
the land ; the laborers are forced to become paupers, and are *' farmed out" to some grasping speoulatist atao 
much per head. Cattle graziers, corn jobbers, forestallers, and monopolists are rapidly driving the old Eng- 
lish squire and the merry yeoman from their abiding places in the halls of their ancestors. 

The author of " The Squire" haa made the most of his materials; and has furnished the public with an 
agreeable work. The detail of the plot occasionally reminds us of Hood's excellent novel of Tylney Hall, 
and the characters of the Squire and the mysterious gypsey woman are nearly the same in both productions. 

The annexed description of the Grange or Manor House is graphic; and the intfoduction of the Sqain'a 
daughter, a meek timid girl, to the home of her father, is equally well conceived. 

That part of the country in which the Grange was situated, was not remarkable for its general beauty, 
though some lovely spots in the yalleys acquired additional charms from their contrast with the bare and 
barren hills. There was litUe level ground, the country emulating the upa and downs of life. It wat not 
till the chaise had gained tho summit of another hill, and the little village of Ranford with its great house, 
the Grange, lay directly beneath, that Mr. Conyers again addressed his daughter. 

"There, Mabel,— there ia the Grange, where those of our name have lived for i^ore than fbnr hundred 
years. I always feel happier for looking on its old walls. There !— now you have a full view of it through 
the trees: make haste, or the wood will hide it again." 

Mabel not only looked, but also admired, as was wished ; she would have been deficient in taste if she 
had not. From that spot the Grange was seen to the greatest advantage. Its picturesque gable ends, ita tall 
twisted chimneys, its gray stone copings, its arched entrance, backed by its rich woods, looked imposing 
m the distance ; whilst the ground, sloping down to a piece of water in the front, the fresh green, dotted 
wiih-sheep and catile, gave a home feeling to the scene. The observer doubted not of a welcome, till a near 
approach ihowed the slovenly style in which all was allowed to remain;— no, not all,— the stable and the 
dog-kenncU were as they should be. 

"I am glad you like it, Mabel. I began to doubt if you could like any thing." said her father, pleased 
with her admiration. "And, see! there is old Sarah Williams, dropping courtesy after courtesy; and that 
mischievous young dog. Jack Philips, mocking her. They are all coming out to have a stare at you, man 
and women, dogs, cats, and children. They could not be more curious if they thought to see a dancing-bear, 
lam quite overlooked." 

Mr. Conyers was right; every cottage in die village disgorged its living contents to see tho chaise and the 
young miss, the former ranking liiile behind the latter as a wonder, no carriage having been seen at Ranford 
amce Miss Conyers's last visit to the Grange. To see the travelling.chaise in full career was therefore « a 
marvel and a show" to the simple villagers.— to see the squire in it, who was no patronizer of wheel-carriagea. 
ceenimg them too luxunooa for hU aex, enhanced the value of the sight. The young mother hurried out 
Witt one child m h(^ arms and two or three clinging to her apron ; the old granny hobbled to the door with 
M cratch j the sturdy urchine, male and female, rnahed before her. bearing kittene, poppiea, ragged d<Ak, or 
»iSi'!iT'i?^ ^*'^5?"' *^® ^^^ y*^P^ "^ ^^^i *«»d theaoiae and oonfoaion were amasing. The aqvira 
♦s^f^r I? 'w^^^*"* *° ^^^ laughing at another, ehouting an inquiry afler a third, taking note of the no- 
iSlrr^ M the chaiae proceeded at a foot*a pace through the village. Greater apeed would have btea 
^mgtmmi m rough was the ro«d. 



REVIEW OK NEW BOOKS. 69 



*>» 



" It will be bctler in surnrncr; iho springs rise in it nt t^iis scnson of ihe year," remarked Mr. Conyers, ap- 
pearing to think for ihe lin«l time in his liTe, somo opolrgy necessary for its vvretclud stale. 

Though nothing waa in aUoIiito ruin, all, save ihe fclaMe and kennel was appro.ipliing to decay, ft might 
be imagined the residence of a niggard or a prodigal, as the eye re<Jo<l upon d fferent objeoig. The road wa§ 
muddy and uxieven, the ruts (carle passed this way) unlevclled, and ihc edges uncut ; yei there was a large 
heap of fine gravel near, almoit covered with weeJa, whif h, wilh a lilllo labor, would have made the road 
good, instead of being itself, as it now was, only another dissight. The rails fencing the lav\n from what was 
termed the park, were rolien, chipped, broken down, ot* tied together with packthread ; whilst a pile of tim- 
ber, far more in eight than a pile of timber should be, suHleiently abunJant to fenco round a hundred such 
lawns, was decaying ui'.employed. The handsome front was still there, (stone is a sturdy bearer of neglect,) 
but ihe grass grew up by the hall stepa, and uncouth excrescences were tacked on to the ancient structure, 
wilh an ill taste in form and arrangement, which checked admiration for the original building. If "Mr. Con- 
yers wa9 not the creator of these cxcrcsrencep, he was their apologist when any ventured to condemn themj 
for he could not bear thai aught connected with iho old mansion should be subjected to blame or ridicule. 

"There bad been largo families," he said, "and the old house could not contain the whole tribe of young- 
aleis. Then the ancient hall, nearly occupying ihe ppaco of the ground* floor, might do to sit in on a sara- 
mer's day, but qh well bo in an icehouse in winter ,* and the door was always left open ; and the dogs came 
in as they pleased, and carried off v\ hat ihey pleased ; and as times changed, nurseries, and china closets, and 
dressing-rooms, were wonted, and each built as ho liked, instead of paying a man lo say you could not do 
this, and you could not do thnt, and this should bo higher and that bhould be lower, puzzling the country 
workmen, ard talking of harmony and nonsense. There were good cellars and kitcheus,~Bnd a room to re- 
ceive friends in, and ihai was enough for him and his visiiers." 

Accustomed to the most exquisite order and licainess, these discrepancies (.ffonded the eye of Mabel, who 
turned lo the lawn, for flowers were her passion. A ragged Portugal laurel, a stunted lauresiinus, with the 
remains of a bordering of thrift, round, weedy, shapeless beds, were the hpst specimens that met her view. 
To her all wote a look of desolation, and she ngain felt with a sinking heart that she was a stranger, — that 
this was not her home, — that thero was little in common between her and the dwellers at her birth-place. 

*'Dowu, Fan! Be quiet, Neptune! That is enough, Carlo) Bo still, can't you. Dash!" shouted Mr. 
Conyers, dealing rebufld and caresses to the innumerable dogs of every breed, that rushed out yelping and 
barking at the approach of the chaise, and crowded round, fawning and leaping on him before his foot had 
touched the ground. 

" Come, gel out, child ! Never mind the doge ; they won't hurt you. You can't be my daughter if you 
CDuld feci afraid of all ihe curs in the land ; — you must have been changed at nurse," he contiuuod, seeuig 
that Mabel shrank from tlie riotous crew, and drew back into the carriage as a large Newfoundland puppy 
made o wild spring towards her, never doubting that his caresses would be most thankfully received. 8tiU 
Mabel hesitated, though unwilling to displease her father by delay. 

" Halloo! halloo!" shouted iho squire, flinging a slick lo some distance. Away rushed the dogs as their 
master intended, save a fc!y- looking lo.rricr, end a steady old Newfoundlander. 

" Now, be quick, child, before the fearful creatures come back. But you most get over this: I bote a wo- 
man to be afraid of any thing, and you will soon be used to them. See, old Pompey wants to make friends 
with you at onC£). in a quiet, gentlemanly way. He is old no;v, poor fellow! but ho was a famoui retriever 
once, and his muiher was a great favorite with Elizabeth. Pat him, Mabel: he could not bile now if he 
would." 

Mabel did pat the old dog, that looked up in her face with gratitude. Her father, pleased with her com- 
pliance, would have won tho like favor for his other noisy retainers; but drawing her cloak closely roand 
her, as though she found it cold, bhc passed into the hall with a hasty step before the would-be familiar New- 
foundland puppy and his associates had returned ; and the pquire with a good-uatured smile, mingled with 
something like contempt at her timidity, followed her example. 



A MANUAL OF POLITENESS; comprmng Oie Principles of Etiquefte, and Rtile» of Behaviour in Oenleel 
Socitli/, for Persons of both Sexes. Marshall and Co. 

There is something ei'rcmely laughable in the muUiplirity of "books on good manners," as Touchstone 
qaaintly terms these guide po6ts to politeness which have been numerous in every age, and assume each 
variety of shape, from ♦• The Gull's Horn Book" by Dekker, to Chesterfield's Letters to his Son. The modern 
directories of manners are strange aroalgaroatious of the various system?, chiefly remarkable for the borachio 
quality of the style, and tho flnical cockneyismof the customs recommended. Chestcrfleld, who " spoke from 
practice, not from book arrange," concocted a popular treatise, because ho perfectly understood what he was 
writing about, and was innately intimate wiili the principles of true pulitencss; but the modern gilt ginger- 
bread pretensions of the scribblitig prcTfe^sors of the present day, arc more confuting i(^he /yro than the result 
of an inveterate mauvaise honle in the centre of a fj&hionable parly. Common sense, with a quick obeorvant 
cyciwill carry a novico through any rouge of society; and natural ease, which is never to be acquired by 
nile, is preferable lo the siiflfobjcrvance of etiquette as inculcated by the generality of those dogmatical dic- 
tators. A printed direction for conduct in society is abv>ut as usefal to a person unaccustomed to mix with 
the world and the world's lieges, as a written instruction how to dance on the light rope would be to a man 
who had never seen a funambulist. 

The work before us, *' Marshall's Manual of Politeness," is one of the best of its class. Its pretensions are 
1«M, and its performances considerably more than several of its contemporaries, who profess to give tho poor 
public lessons in taking off hats, kissing hands, blowing no3C», and wiping baots on door mats. While it 



70 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



partakes of the faults of the class to which it belongs, it professes more than an average share of positive 
utility; the essay on *' General Deportment" deserves perusal by every one, whatever his statiop in society; iu- 
deed, wherever the cathor seems to have depended upon himself, he has satisfactorily executed his task, but 
occasionally a few contradictory remarks may be observed, arising from a deference to the vulgar notions broached 
by his contemporaries, or a wish to blond the irosginary bd air of a city apprentice with the habitudes of lui un- 
studied gentleman. The article on « Female Dress" is-crediiable and sound ; but the remarks on male attire evince 
an ignorance of the acknowledged decencies of life. We are to suppose that this work is published for the use 
principally, of the uuiniiiated youth who possess a desire, or what is more to the point, an opportunity of 
figuring in good society, and, ignorant of the style of dress required, turns to the ** Minual for Politeness," 
and in accordance with its dictum, goes to an evening party, full dressed, in a blue ooat with bright buttons 
and a loose and rolling collar, a white waistcoat, white trovvsers, silk stockings, and pumps! We are told 
also, that blue coals give a gayer and more animated look to the appearance than black, and are best adapted 
for balls ! and that a light-colored rich silk velvet vest is full drero and most becoming ; and that if a dark 
waistcoat be used, a light under waistcoat should always be worn! An unlucky wight who followed these 
rules, would be full dressed for a mountebank Cop in a comedy, but let him not intrude his vulgar body into 
the drawing room. A suit of black is a*one accounted dress for evening parties ; the claret ool«»red abomina- 
tions were introduced by a noble lord who prided himself upon his peculiarities, but black alone maintains 
its ground. Velvet vests were never considered dress; under waistcoats are fit only for prize fighters and 
hackmen, who, by the way, alwajfs patronize bright blue coats and brass buttons, when they don their holi- 
day clothes. Let the would-be gentleman remember the story of the groom who married his mistress, a rich 
widow of good standing in society. She knew that her husband was uuHt for a place in the drawing-room, 
and she consulted her uncle, a nobloman of much worldly experience. <* What line of conduct what you 
advise John to pursue that his deficiencies in mind and marmer may not be observable." "Let kirn tctar 
black, and held his tongue" was the reply. 



VIEWS OF PHILADELPHIA AND ITS VICINITY; Embracing a Collection of Twenty Views. 

Uugliea and Stille. 

These views of Philadelphia, wiiU their poetical illustrations and prose descriptions, form an excellent 
guide book to the lions of our good city of Penn. The views are well drawn by J. C. Wild, and lithographed 
in good style. The Slate House, from the north-west corner of Sixth .street, makes a gooJ picture ; the artist 
has chosen a moonlight night in winter, when the buildings possess a coping of snow, and the leafless trees 
are fringed with while. Fairmount, Manayunk, View from the Navy Yard, Ti»e Almi-Houso, The Peni- 
tentiary, and Moyamensing Jail are also well treated ; but the View down the Inclined Piano is somewhat 
out of drawing. The delineations of the city buildings are generally extremely correct. 

Mr. Holden, of the Saturday Courier, has executed his unprofitable task of furniahing tho descriptive de- 
tails of the pictorial Eubjects in a manner creditable to his industry and research. He has given a mass of 
valuable information in a condensed form. His brother editor, Mr. MWIakin, has graced each subject with 
a poetical illu«jtra!ion ; the following piece will give some idea of the successful manner in which he has 
treated the various suhjcctr. 



EASTERN PENITENTIARY. 

Dark reservoir of crime ! 

How shall I hymn to thee. 
In apt appointed rhyme. 

Fitting opostrophe ! 

My pen a stkel should be, 
Wiih ink of blackest dye, 

And paper from the trek,* 
The Nile flows darkly by. 

A doom'd and blighted race, 

Are toiling in thy cells, 
For whom the teor of grace. 

Or pity, bt^lilom swells. 

A landmark of the law, 
In ihre hath man set up, 

That vice may wisdom draw, 
From Justice' bitter cup. 

* Cypria Papyrus. 



To me thy massive towers. 

Seem beautiful and free; 
Bat weary count ihe hours, 

To those who dwell with thee. 

A victim's at thy gate. 

In manacles all bound, 
A man of olijoct state, 

With eyes upon tho ground. 

His melting bosom heaves. 

And teurs of vain regret. 
Are falling on the leaves, 

By late repentance wet. 

They press him to the goal, 
His wickedness hath won. 

Whore reason lacks control. 
Nor shines the blessed sun. 

Now moves tho dungeon door. 

With clank of massive chai^Cjl P 

One look — the last — 'tis o'er! O 
And all is still again. 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 71 



SKETCHES OF YOUNG LADIES, by Qrtz. and SKETCHES OF YOUNG GENTLEMEN, by 
Quiz, Junior. One Volume, Carey, Lea, and BlancUard. 

Light, humonoino, and pleasant are the writings of the Quiz family, who have concocted an agreeable 
and therefore seasonable botik. We cordially recommcad it to the notice of our readers. 

The sketches by Quiz, Senior, have long been conspicuous in the periodicals of the day. We present a 
new specimen of them te our friends in the present number, (page 25.) and the publishers have done well in 
collecting ihem fur publication. The talents of the Junior Quiz may be rated fiom the specimen annezed» 

THE BASHFUL YOUNG GENTLEMAN. 

We found ourselves seated at a small dinner party the other day, opposite a stranger of such singular ap- 
pearance and manner, that he irresistibly aitracied our atteniion. 

This was a fresh colored }oung gentleman, with as good a promise of light whibkcr as one might wish to 
see, and possessed of a very velvet-like sofllooiiing countenance. We do not uf>e the hiter term invidiously, 
but merely to denote a pair of smooth, plump, highly- colored checks of capacious dimensions, and a mouth 
rather remarkable for the fre^h hue of the liis than for any marked or striking expression ii presented. His 
whole face was suffused with a crimson blush, and bore that downcast, timid, reiirmg look, which betokenaa 
man ill at ease with himself. 

There was nothing in these symptoms to attract more than a pa8f>ing remark, but our attention had been 
originally drawn to the bashful young gentleman, on his first appearance in the drawing room above stairs, 
into which he was no sooner introduced, than making his way towards us who were standing in a window, 
and wholly neglecting several persons who warmly accosted him, he seized our hand with visible emotion, 
and pressed it with a convulsive grasp for a grod couple of minujU's, after which he dived in a nervous man- 
ner across the room, oversetting in his way a fine little girl of six and m quarter years old — and shrouding 
himself behind some hangings, was seen no more, until the eagle eye of the hostess detecting him in his con- 
cealment ; on the announcement of dinner, he was requested to pair ufl with a lively bingle lady, of two or 
three and thirty. 

This most flattering salutation from a perfect stranger, would have gratified us not a Utile as a token of his 
having held us in high respect, and for that reason been desirous of our acquaintance, if we had not suspected 
from the first, that the young gentleman, in making a desperate effort to get through the ceremony of intro- 
duction, had, in the bewilderment of his ideas, shaken hands with us at random. This impression was fully 
confirmed by the subsequent behaviour of the bashful young genileinan in question, which we noted particu- 
Jarly, with the vjew of ascertaining whether we were right in o.ir conjccturo. 

The young gentleman seoted himself at tal)]G with evident mii^givings, anJ turning; sharp round to pay at- 
tention to some observation of his loquacious neighbor, overset his bread. There was nothing very bad in this, 
and if he had the pre.<;ence (*f mind to let it go. and say nothin:; about it. noSinly but the min who had laid 
the cloth wouki hivo been a bit the wi^er; but the young gentleman in various aeini-siicccssful attempts to 
prevent its fall, played with it a little, as gentlemen in tho streets may be seen to do with their bats on a 
windy day, and then giving tho roll a smart rap in his auxiciy to catch ir, knocked it with great adroitness 
into a tureen of white soup at some distance, to the unitpeakable terror and disturbance of a very amiable bald 
gentleman, who was dispensing the contents. We thought the bashful young gentlemnn would have gone off* 
in an apopletic fit, consequent upon tho violent rush of blood to his face af the occurrence of this catastrophe. 

From this moment we perceived, in the phraseology of the fancy, that it was '*all up" with the bashful 
young gentleman, and so indeed it was. Several benevolent persons endeavored to relieve his embarrass- 
ment by taking wine with him, but finding that it only augmunted his sufferings, and that afior mingling sherry, 
champagne, hock and mosyJIo together, he applied the greater part of the mixture externally, instead ,of inter- 
nally, they gradually dropped off, and loft him to tho exi*lu>ive care of the talkativo lady, who not noting the 
\«ildnesB of his eye, firmly believed she had secured a listener. He broke a glass or two in the course of 
the meal, and disappeared shortly afterwards ; it is inferred that he went away in some confusion, inasmuch 
as he leA the house in another geo'leman's coat, and the footman's hat. 

This little incident led us to reflect upon the m'»8t prominent characteristics of bashful young gentlemen in 
the abstract; and aj this portable volume uill be the great text-book of young ladies in all I'uiure generations, 
we record them here for their guidance and behoof. 

If the bashful young gentleman, in turning a street corner, chance to stumblo suddenly upon two or three 
young ladies of his acquaintance, nothing can exceed his confusion and agitation- His first impuUe is to make 
a great variety of bows, and dart past them, which he does until, obierving ihul they wish to stop, but are 
uncertain whether to do so or not, he makes several feints of reiurning, which causes them to do the sime; 
and at length, ofter n great quantity of unnecessary dodging and falling up ogninst the other passengers, he 
returns and shakes hands most afleciionately with all of them, in doing wliicli ho knocks out of their grasp 
sundry little parcels, which he hastily pi«lfs up, and relurtis very muddy and disordered. The chances are 
that the bashful young gentleman then observes it is very fine weather, and being reminded that it has only 
just left off raining for the first time iUcfo three days, he blushes very much, and smiles as if he had said a 
very good thing. The young lady wlio was most anxious to speak, hero inquires, with an air of great com- 
miseration, how his dear sii»ter Harriet is to-day; to which tho youig gentleman, without the slightest con- 
sideration, replies with many thanks, that bhe is remarkably well. " Well, Mr. Hopkins!" cries the young lady, 
** why we heard she was bled yesterday evening, and hove been perfectly rai-Herable about her." "Oh, ah,'* 
wiys the young gentleman, "so she was. Oh, bhe's very ill — very ill indeed." Tho young gentleman then 
shakes his head, and looks very despimding (ho has been smiling perpetually up to this time,) and after a short 
pause, gives his glove a great wrench at tho wrist, and snys, with a strong emphasis on tho adjective, *' Oood 
morning, good morniiig." And making a great number of bows in acknowledgment of several little messages 
10 his sister, walks backward a few paces, and comes with great violence against a lamp-p>>at, knocking his 



72 THE GENTLEjtfAN's MAGAZINE. 

hat oil in the contact, ^hich in his mental confusion and bodily pain he is going to walk awny without, until 
a great roar from a carter attracts hiu attention, when he picks it up, and tries to smile cheerfully to the 
young ladies, who are lookirg back, ond who, he baa ihc &aiisfaciion of Eceing, ore all laughing heartily. . 

At a quadrille party, the boshful young gentleman always remains as near the entrance of the room as 
possible, from which position he fcrailes at the people he knows as they come in, and Eometiracs steps forward 
to shake hands with more iniirnaie friends ; a j roccK which, on each rc|:;eliti("n, seems to turn him a deeper 
fecarlet than bclbre. IJe declines dancing the first fcI or two, observing, in a foint voice, that he would rather 
wait a little; but at Icngsh is ab«ulutcly compelled to allow himself to be intrcduccd to a partner, when he 
is led, in a great heat and blushing furiously, across the room to a J^pot where h:tlf a duztn unknown ladies 
arc congregated tugeilier. 

"Miss Lambert, Ut me introduce Mr. Hopkins for the next qnadri'le." Mits Lambert inclines her head 
graciously. Mr. Hopkins bows, and his fair conductress di«aj>pears, leaving Mr. lloj kins, as he too well 
knows, to make himself agreealilo. The young lady more than half expects that the bashful young gentle- 
man will say something, antl the bashful youi>g gentkzr.an feeling this, seriously thinks whether he h&s got 
any thing to say, whi(h, upon matiiie reflection, he is roiker di^].o&rd (o coi.elLde he has not, since nothing 
occur? to hira. Meanwhile, the young lady, after tcvcral ii.fpeciions of her houquet, all made in >ho expecta- 
tion that the baslifiil young gcnile-man is going to talk, whii^pcrs her mama, who is sitting next to her, which 
whisper the bashful joting genileroon immediately suspects (and pos&ibly with very good reason) must be 
abcut him. In this cumroriublo cohdiiion he remains uniil it is time to "stand up," when murmuring a 
*' Will you allow me \ * lie gives the young lady his arm, and after inquiring where she will stand, and re- 
ceiving a reply that f>hc has no choice, conducts her to tho remolcst corner of the quadrille, and making ono 
attempt at coaversation, which turns out a desperate failure, preserves a profound silence until it is all over, 
when he walks her twice round the room, deposits her in her old seat, and retires in confusion. 

A married bashful gentleman — for these bashful gcnilcxen do get married sometimes — how it is ever 
brought about is a mys:cry to us — a morried bashful gentleman cither causes his wife to appear bold by con- 
trast, or merges her proper importance in his own insignificance. Bashful young gentlemen should be cured, 
or avoided. They are never hopeless, aud never will be, wiiile female beauty and attractions retain their 
influence, as any young lady will find, who may think it worth uhilc on this confident assurance to take a 
patient in hand. 



HOW SHALL I GOVERN MY SCHOOL? ADDRKSSED TO YOUNG TEACHERS; AND ALSO 
ADAPTED TO ASSIST PARENTS h\ FAMILY GOVERNMEiNT. hy E. U. Wines. W. Mar- 
shall and Co. 

The subject illustrated by this excellent book deserves a longer article than we have spqce to insert, or 
time to indite. We have much to exhibit upon the subject, and many experiences to propound. For many 
yeorQ, we have given the subject the most serious consideration ; and we bog leave to say that we cordially 
agree with Mr. Wines in tha view ho has taken of school government. The teacher, the parent, and the 
pupil, should attentively peruse the wholesome and pleasant truths contained in this well-written and much- 
wanted treatiao ; we earnestly intreat every person who may in any way bo connected with the education of 
youth to givo patient attention to the valuable contents. Various of the Boston tav/ins have been offering a 
premium for the best t^eati^e on education; we know not the given latitude of the expected essay, but, in 
our opinion, (he wise men of the East could not do better than piy the promised sum into tho hands of Mr. 
Wines. 

Innumerable anecdotes illustrate tho writer's positions; one of which we beg leave to insert. The Hel- 
vetian pedagogue offers a striking contrast to the celebrated Doctor Busby, Magister of Westminster school, 
in London. When the king visited his academy, his Mojf'sty civilly carried his hat in his hand; but 
the master kept his beaver on, and with an open snuff box in one hand, and a long cane in the other, swag- 
gered bravely by tho side of tho king, talking loudly an J pertly, as they promenaded up and down the ex- 
tensive school room. When tho king retired, the schoolmistcr fv^llowcd him; and when far away from the 
sight of his scholars, humMy uncovered himself, and with much pcuitence, askad pardon for the rudeness of 
his conduct. " You know not the fiery spirits that I have to command. If ihcy thought that there was a per- 
son in the world superior to me, or one of whom I stood in fear, I should never be able to manage them 
again— their obedience would be gone for ever." But> to our extract — 

"Never was tho power of mutual love and sympathy between master and scholars more strikingly or beauti- 
fully displayed than in the asylum of Pestalozzi at Stantz, in the Helvetic canton of Unterwalden. Ills school 
there was founded by the Helvetic government, and raiiiuinined at the public expense; but he commenced it 
under circuQistanccs the most disadvantageous and discouraging that can well be imagined. Some idea may 
be formed of the materials on which ho had to operate from the statement of a few facts. Some parents re - 
quired to bo paid for leaving their ctiildren in the school, to oompsnsate for the diminished produce of thei r 
beggary. Others dcdred to rnako a regular bargain for how many days in tho week they should have a rigb t 
to take them out to bc^, and on this being refused, actually removed them from the institution. Upon San - 
days the fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, and other relations of various degrees, made thei r 
appearance, and taking the children apart in some corner of the house, or in the street, elicited complaints o f 
every kind, and then either took them away, or left them discontented and peevish. The parents did no t 
even aflect to support him ; but on tho contrary, treated him as a mean hireling, who, if he had been able to 
make a living in any other way, would never have undertaken tho charge of their children. 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 73 

In Ihu unfavorable and disheartening position, Pestalozzi saw himseir stripped of all the ordinary propd of 
anthority, and in a manner compelled to rely on the power of love in the child's heart, as the only, or almost 
the only, aouice of obedience. The adoption of any of those craOy systems of rewards and punishments, by 
v?hich the external subduing of every foul and unclean spirit had been elsewhere accomplished, was, under 
the circumstances, entirely out of the question, even if Pestalozzi had been capable of making himself head 
policeman in his school. The only means, therefore, by which it was possible for him to gain any ascenden- 
cy over his pupils, was an all-forbenring kindness. lie felt himself unal)lc, it is true, entirely to dispense with 
coerciye measures, or even with corporeal chastisement ; but his inflictions were not those of a pedantic des- 
pot, but of a loving and sympathizing father, who was as much, if not more than the child himself, distressed 
by the necessity of having recourse to such measures. Accordingly, they produced not upon the children 
that hardening effect which punishment too frcqucnily has ; ond one fact pariicularly is recorded of his ex- 
perience at Stantz, in which the result seemed to justify his proceedings. One of the children who had gained 
most upon his aflfcciions, ventured, in the hope of indulgence, to utter threats against a school fellow, and was 
severely chastised. The poor boy^waa quite disconsolate, and having continued weeping for a considerable 
lime, took the first opportunity of PestalozzPs leaving the room, to asli forgiveness of the child whom he had 
offended, and to thank him for having laid the complaint, of which his own punishment was the immediate 
consequence. 

The gentleness, forbearance, and unaffected kindne&s and sympathy of Pcslalrzzi, soon made his school at 
Stantz a yery different thing from what it had been at first In the midst of his children, he forgot that there 
waa any world besides his asylum; and as their circle was a universe to him, so he was all in all to them. 
From morning to night he waa the centre of their existence. To him they owed every comfort and every 
enjoyment ; and whatever hardships ibey had to endure, he was their fcllow-suflTerer. He partook of their 
meals, and slept among them. In the evening he prayed with them before they went to bed ; and from his 
conversation they dropped into the arms of slumber. At the first dawn of light, it was his voice that called 
them to the light of the rising sun, and to the praise of their Heavenly Father. All day he stood amongst 
them, teaching the ignorant, and assisting the helpless ; encouraging the weak, and admonishing the transgres* 
ior. Ilifl hand was daily with them, joined in theirs. He fuliilled the Scripture maxim of weeping when 
Ihey wept, and rejoicing when they rejoiced. He was to them a father, and they were to him as children. 

8ueb love could not fail to win their hearts ; the most savnge and the most obstinate could not resist its 
soothing influence. Discontent and peevishness ceased ; and a number of between seventy and eighty chil- 
dren, whose dispositions had been far from kind, and their habits any thing but domestic, were thus convert- 
ed, in a short time, into a peaceable family circle, in which it was delight to exist When those who had 
witneawd the disorder and wretchedness of the first beginning, came to visit the asylum in tho following 
spring, they could scarcely identify in the cheerful countenances and bright looks of its inmates, the haggard 
feces and vacant stares, with which their imagination was impressed. 

It is likely that we shall revert to this work again at a more favorable opportunity. 



MEMOIRSl OF SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, Bart. G. C. IL, Keeper of the Privy Purse during Hie 
Reign of Hit Majesty King George the Fourth^ including his Corregpondence with many distinguished 
Personages, By L.4dy Knighton. One Volume. Carey, Lea, and Blanchard. 

William Knighton, ao-obacnre country apothecary, removed to London in the year 1803, and, according 
V) his own account, walked into Blake's Hotel, Jcrmyn street, with but one coat, and that in so ragged stato 
that the waiter hesitated to receive him. When he afterwards endeavored to establish himself as a physi- 
cian, he was unable to pay the necessnry fees to the London college for a diploma, and went to Scotland 
£>r the purpose of buying cheap but not glorious degree of a doctor of physic, which the college of St. An- 
drews readily sold to any practitioner, without inquiring into his capacity or fitness for the exercise of his 
profession. It bos been assorted without contradiction, that Knighton was unable to stand an ex- 
amination before the London professors, and from the tenor of one of his letters, page 35, we are inclined to 
think that anch was the real state of the case. It has also been stated that his family connections were not 
respectable ; he gives us no account of their standing in society, but we conclude that he had nothing to 
boast in the way of parentage. He says that his father was disinherited for marrying improperly ; and, at 
page 23, remarks, " The stories that have been told of me have been beyond every thing wonderful. 'Tis 
bat of little consequence. The mother of Euripides sold greens for her livelihood, and tho father of Demos- 
thenes sold knives ibr the same purpose; but does it lessen the worth of the men? Yet, as Johnson observes, 
' there is no pleasure in relating stories of poverty.' " We make these observations but as a contrast to the 
fact that for many years this same man ruled (he ruler of a mighty nation. The great, the noble, the learned 
of the land were unable to approach their sovereign but with permission of Sir William Knighton, the 
keeper of the Privy Purse. The book before us attests the truth of this statement ; even the king's brothel, 
the dake of Clarence, afterwards William IV., the dukes of York, Cumberland, and Sussex, were compelled 
to beseech the interference of the country apothecary in matters wherein they were concerned^ The talents 
of the day were unable to reach the car of England's monarch without conciliating the opinions of the doc- 
tor^Sir Walter Scott, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Northcote, Wilkie. Southey, Nosh, Colman, Blackwood,^c. 
were compelled to sue for the kind oflices of the eflicicnt go between ; and the most distinguished states- 
men of the day toaded the dear baronet, and used his bed-chamber rhetoric to advance their suits. Broug- 
ham, Canning, Peel, and Eldon, have led epistolary documents to that effect ; and the highest dignitaries of 
the charch did not disdain to figure in the list of suppliants. 



74 THE gentleman's magazine. 

Our readers will naturally suppose that the master mind of Sir VVilliani KDighton had gaiped an ascen- 
dancy over the voluptuous monarch ; or that " the first gentleman of the age, and the Augustus of modem 
merit," as George the Fourth loved to be called, had discerned the talent of ihe provincial apothecary, and, 
in reward, had raised him to the important station of a regal major domo. On the contrary, Sir William 
Knighton was never supposed to have possessed even a moderate share of ability in his profession ; and the 
diary and extensive correspondence left behind him are a moss of unmitigated tN^iiddle. The fact is, that 
the doctor introduced himself to the royal notice (the manner is not stated in the life before us) as an agent 
in an affair of gallantry between the prince Regent and a frail fair one connected wiih a noble house, who 
had purchased the confldenco of Dr. Knighton, then just returned from accompanying the Marquis of Welles- 
ley on his embassy to Spain. The Regent found the go-between qualities of the doctor a desirable acquisi- 
tion; and purchased his services by appointing him one of the physicians of the Royal Household; and after a 
few years service, he bestowed upon him the dignity of a baronetcy. Ills supple, winning, useful manner soon 
made him an essential article to the lazy and voluptuous monarch ; and the time-serving Pandarus retained 
the sole control of the English monarch during the remainder of his life. 

If the papers of Sir William Knighton had fallen into the possession of any fearless editor and publisher, 
what an amusiRg volume might have been given to the world. But his wife, with n due regard to the 
memory of her husband, has collated a few of the harmless epistles from the worthies above mentioned, 
with some tender family letters from the baronet himaclf, and printed them in a handsome octavo — but the 
facts now furnished, illustrate but a small portion of the real life of Sir William Knighton. 

The names of the letter writers and the quality of their correspondence must perforce endow the book 
with a property of interest. VVe cannot say much for the value of the portions of the doctor's diary pre* 
sented to the public, but the numerous epistles interspersed throughout the pages are valuable and enter- 
taining. We should like to have the gleaning of the remainder papers belonging to the late baronet ; we 
believe that we could write a very pretty romance of real life, called *• The Secret History of the Court of 
George IV., the Profligate King." What talcs of undue influence and palatial intrigue ! of the finesses of 
corrupt statesmen and rival mistresses ; of willing cornutoes and parent-procuresses ; of unbridled lust ; of 
incest, murder, lunacy, and shame ! the plots of the rival countesses Jersey, and the celebrated ** fat, fair, 
and forty" darae Cunningham ; the secret of the cause of the King (George IlfO's madness; of the repudiation 
of Caroline; of the strange unexplained deaths of the princesses Amelia and Charlotte; the history of the 
fair quakeress; of Mn*. Robinson, the gentle Perdita; of Mrs. Fiizherbert, the Catholic wife of George IV ; of 
the heart-broken Jordan, who " fed a monarch and the monarch's brats," and died in miserable desiiiation ; of 
Mrs. Mary Ann Clarke and the army's idol— the bankrupt duke ; of the princess Mary and her groom lover; 
of Ihe birth of Captain Crof\ ; of the princess Olive ; of the cause of the murder of Sellers by the prince Ernest 
of Cumberland ; and the remainder of the long black list of inexplicable crime and infamy connected with 
the life of George IV. 



The first edition of Mr. Ward's invaluable work on society, called Fii£LDIng, having been disponed of, the 
publishers, Messrs. Carey and Hart, have issued another in a more compendious form and at a cheaper rate. 
The three volumes are now comprised in one, and we anticipate a rapid demand for this superior production 
in its present portable form. 



PROGRESSIVK FRENCH GRAMMAR AND EXERCISES, ON THE BASIS OF LEVIZAC'S FRENCH 
GRAMMAK. By A. G. Collot. Kay and Brother. 

This volume and the supplementary Key complete the publication of" CoUoCa Progresiive Series of French 
Schod Book»,*' in five smoll but most e(1i(*ient volumes, calculated to impart a thorough knowletlge of the 
French language in the necessary varieties of speaking, reading, and writing. The Interlinear and Pronounc- 
ing French Readers src admirable contrivances to assist the progress of the student in the attainment of a 
perfect intimacy with the powers of translation and pnmunciation. The general prevalence of the French 
language now-a days, renders a work that abbreviates the difficulties of its acquirement a positive favor lo the 
atudent — we therefore conscientiously rcrorartiend the alwve scries to the notice of all persons who desire to 
attain the French langunge in the shoriest possible time. 



We have received a Plate Number of "The Mirror," General Morris's deservedly popular miscellany. 
Besilcs an engraved title pp.ge of considerable beauty, there is a speaking likeness of Charles Sprague, whose 
exquisite poems have oficn graced the pages of this periodical. The literary merits of The Mirror are too well 
known to require a word from us in iho way of commendation; the superiority of its typographical execution 
may defy competition on either Bide of the Atlantic; and the variety of its pictorial embellishments evidence 
the liberality ofihc proprietor. The present plate is one of a series of likenesses of American writers now in 
the prngross of publication; the portraits of Bryant, Ilalleck, Irving, and Willhr, have al^adj^beiji^jjr^ecnied 
to the subscribers to the Mirror. Digitized by 



^'b'^g!'^" 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOK^. 75 



CALDERON THE COURTIER. A Tale, by the Author of " Pelham," &c. One Volume. Carey, Lea, 

and Blanchard. 

A romantic story, embodying in its poges a few names of historical interest, with incidents of political 
maosiivring well adapted to the tone of the present timet. The name of the author is a guarantee that this 
little tale or nouveUelle is well written. 

While we admire the fertility of Mr. Bulwer'i pen. and hold the majority of his works in the highest esti- 
mation, we must again prote&t against his abuse of historical data in works of positive fiction. In the case 
ofCalderon, as in Leila, Mr. Culwer has rejected ihe facts of history fur the creations of his own imagination; 
sad, in our opinion, much to the Io:>s of romantic interest in the force of action and the minutes of relation. 
The real adventures of Bcmbdil were certainly more extraordinary than the inventions of Mr. Bulwer, and 
allowed a greater scope for the exercise of fancy in the exposition of the details. It were better to give a 
wider flight to invention, and create alike the hero and his adventures than to seize upon some name con- 
Qected with certain historical associations, and foist upon him an imaginary character and adventures in 
opposition to all authorized relations. In historical novels or plays the main facts should be preserved, how- 
ever the writer may choose to display his inventive powers in the remainder of his design. The be^ writers 
of all ages have generally pursued this course, ond we rcgref seeing Mr. Bulwer unrieceRsarily garble the 
page of history vrith wilful and inconsistent additions. In a note appended to '* Calderon," he remarks that 
ibe reign of Philip the Third is " an ambiguous and unsatisfactory portion of Spanish history ;" and confesses 
that his adaptation of the history ofCalderon is ** widely distinct," aliliongh he has borrowed a few of the 
incidents and fome of the names from Don Telesforo y Truoba y Cozia, the author of "The Romance of 
Spanish History." The facts are fro.ii Trueba, and the fanciful adiiitions are by Bulwer, who has so com- 
pletely altered the known circumstances of the reign in question that he might have profos^ed his tale illus- 
trated the life ofCalderon de Barca, the Spanish poet, with as much propriety as that of Rodrigies de CaU 
deron, the Secretary to the duke of Lcrma. 

Calderon was not impeached by the Inquisition for practising sorcery on the king, as stated by Bulwer, 
bat for being employed by his master the duke of Lerma to poison the queen of Spain, for which crime he 
raflered the penalty of death, not for the stale romantic incident of a supposed murder done on the body of 
an unknown female found in his garden. Again, Uzeda did succeed not only in driving his father from the 
premiership of Spain, but in holding the reins of government for several years, till he was thrust from his 
■tool by his own secretary Olivarez, whose father had been suspected of poisoning pope Sixtus V. Bul- 
wer has made Olivarez the immediate successor to Lerma and Calderon, and crowded all thes? events into 
the lapse of a few days in tho early part of the reign of Philip IV,' which, by the way, is occasionally printed 
Philip VI. 



BURTON ; or, THE SIEGES. A Romncc, by the Author of " The Southwest," and " Lafiilc." Two Vo- 
lumes, Harper and Brothers. 

The new novel, by Professor Ingraham, arrived as we were on the point of placing our last farm on the 
press. We have not had time to give it a fair and full perusal, but it seems to have the professor's woU- 
hioyin talent stamped upon every page. Aaron Burr is the hero; and the early portion of his adventurous ca- 
reer supplies the incidents and plot. There are many scenes of an exciting nnture ; and the description^ of the 
early revolutionary struggles are well done, and arrest the attention of tho reader. One or two trivial mis- 
takes deserve correc!ion in tho second edition, which we prophecy must soon be required. The vanguard 
does not foUow tho main body of an army on its march ; nor is there such a thing as an afler guard in military 
serrice — it is a naval term ; the gold coins called sovereigns were not in use at the time of the revolutionary 
war — the soyereigns of 1552 were worth thirty shillings sterling; none were coined since that date till the 
year 1621, when the sovereign was fixed at one pound or twenty shillings sterling value. 

We subjoin a capital account of a robber's death. It is one of the most stirring scenes ever written. 

The door partially opened as the boll left its bed, and through the crevice Pascalet saw ihe old man at his 
bench, intently occupied in hia !ab)r, with his piles of gold and silver glittering before him. He looked down 
and clenched his dagger; then, glancing again at the miser, seemed to hesitate whether he should become 
both assassin and robber. The helpless appearance of his victim seemed to plead even to him for lenity. 
Replacing his stiletto, which he had taken from his bosom, he drew up his sleeve-i, and opened and contracted 
his fingers, as a leopard doos its claws when about to spring upon its prey; then applying his foot lightly 
against the door, it flew wide open— in two bounds, that gave bick no soumfas his unshod feet touched the 
^r, be was at the old man's fide, with his fingers clasped around his throat. 

His eyes st^ed from their sockets; his lips vainly essayed to articulate; a sovereign which he had ju^t 
taken up, fell to thn floor; ihe clippers dropped from his hand ; pnin and terror were horribly depicted on hn 
withered visage. For an instant Pascalot held him thus ; then gradually relaxing his grasp before life should 
ocape, he held him by the threat wiih one hand, while, suspending his knife over him wiih iho other, he 
threatened him wiih instant death if he moved or spoke. Joseph clasped his hands and silently pleaded for 
mercy. Pascalot knew not the meaning of tho word. Loading him, exhausted by terror and suffering, to his 
«ot, he caused him to lie down upon his face. " I'll bury my dagger in thy withered carcass," he whispered 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



in his Franco Englibh — but, for ihe sake of energy, we give the purer English — in his ear, " if thou stir hand 
or foot. Tell me where thou hast hidden ihy gold, or thou dieat." 

" Gold ? Oh, I'm not worth a ha'pence (halfpenny) in Ihe world !" 

" Thou liest ! and, speak above ihy breath again, and thou shalt taste my knife ! 'Twas of ray mercy thou 
didst not feel its edge e'en now instead of the gripe of my fingers. Whoee gold is this, if not thine ?" 

" Oh, the colony's, the colony's — sent to me to be weighed," he cried, rolling his eyes in despair towards 
the pile. 

" The colony's ? Then I'll be debtor to the state the full sura, and not burden my conscience by robbing 
a poor wretch," ho said, advancing to the bench heaped with coins. " Ho, mort de vie!" he exclaimed, as 
he detected iho tray of clippings; " is this the way thou servest the state's money? I'll drag thee before the 
governor, and have thee hung higher than ever Ilaman was." 

** Mercy, good youih," said Joseph, his eye brightening ; *' 'tis not the state's ! I meant it in jest. And, since 
thou sayosi it will go against thy conscience to rob a poor wretch, 'tis mine own !" 

" Ciol ! ihou art, ihen, no poor wretch if thou ownest all this gold ; so my conscience will be clear on this 
score." 

" But, 'twill make me a poor wretch if thou rob ms ?" 

*• Then, when thou art made a poor wretch, I will not rob thee. So conscience hath it both ways." 

Domino Joseph groaned in bitterness of spirit. Pascalct, unheeding him, proceeded, etill keeping an eye 
on his victim, who seemed to'bo paraljzGd as if under the gaze of a basilisk, to convey the dollars and £Ove« 
reigns to his pocket, without being nice in selecting the clipped from the undipped. 

" Now, old Kicodemus," he said, '• I'll leave ihce thy clippings for thy pains. Bjit thou hast more than 
this coin, Til wnrrant me." ^ 

" As truo as there's a Heaven above and a judgment day to come ! I have not another penny. I am im- 
poverished, and musf beg my bread about the streets. Oh, mercy, good youth! mercy! Do not rob an old 
wretch ! think on thy conscience !' 

" Have I not argued that point with thee ? so hush, and give me thy keys," he added, approaching the cot 
where the old man had lain trembling and groaning, with his eyes directed to^^ards the robber, as sovereign 
afler sovereign disappeared in the capacious repositories in the habiliments of Pascalet. '• Untie that thong, 
or my knife shall do it for thee." 

"'Tis but the key to the outer door. Oh, mercy ! oh !" 

Pascalet pressed his hand roughly upon his mouth, and with his dagger cut the string. Having possession 
of the keys, ho began to examine the room. After making an unsuccessful search, he suddenly advanced 
upon the miser, and said, with terrible emphasis, placing his mouth close to his ear, 

"Tell me where lies thy money, or thou diest!" and the point-of the dagger pressed painfully against the 
skin of bis victim. 

Domine Joseph, as if terrified into compliance, pointed to the chimney, crying, in the accents of despair, 
*» There! there!" 

Pascalet seized the light to explore it, and the old man's face lighted up with something like a smile at the 
temporary delay he had gained. lie closely searched the fire-place, turning up every loose brick, and even 
looking up tho chimney, but in vain. "Old man," he said, advancing to him fiercely, " thou hast deceived 
me!" He raised his arm to strike the dagger into his back, when Joseph, in the extremity of unfeigned 
alarm, cried out, 

"Mercy! mercy! I'll tell thee!" 

" Where ?" 

" Be-bencath my — my cot." 

Pascalct bent down, and, seeing tho box, his eyes sparkled with pleasure. Finding that it was secured lo 
a bolt, ho made ihe old man, lest he should assail him while at work, lie on his face upon the floor. Dominie 
Joseph stretched himself npon tho boards as if ho were lying down to die, trembling and tortured with the 
prospect of losing his wealth, yet his eyes anxiously and with curiosity watching every movement of the 
robber as ho displaced the cot, kneeled, fitted the key to tho lock, and raised the lid. Then did tho heart 
of Joseph Gerret grow faint within liim ; but, as he heard the silver ring in the sacrilegious hands of Pascalet, 
who surveyed his treasure with delight and wdnder, he cast his eyes desperately upon the blunderbuss which 
hung at the head of his bed. He then glanced upon tho well knit frame of Pascalet and his glittering dagger, 
and, shutting his eyes despairingly, groaned aloud. 

Pascalet, afler surveying for a moment the glittering heaps be had discovered, proceeded to transfer them 
lo his own person. Ho filled his pocket?, and then slripping from his neck his yellow handkerchief, com- 
menced filling it with Spanish dollars. He at length became so absorbajl in this delightful occupation, that 
he forgot Domine Joseph, his own situation, and, indeed, every thing but the piles of money before him. Not 
80 Domine Joseph. Ashis alarm subsided, his alertness and presence of mind increased, and he began lo 
meditate, even at tho risk of his own life, defending his property. He therefore saw with no little pleasure 
that Ihe attention of the robber was wholly fixed upon hia treasure, and that, in the eagerness of transferring 
it, he had not only forgotten to watch him, but had laid down his dagger by his side. He desperately re- 
solved to gain possession of the weapon. Therefore, to ascertain what prospect he had of succeeding, he 
made a slight noise with his shoe upon the floor. The robber did not notice it. He then moved his whole 
person, but Pascalet only heard Ihe sound of his gold and silver. A third and somewhat noisier movement 
attracted no attention ; and tho old man emboldened by these successes, muttered something like a prayer, 
and his face became rigid with desperate detcrminiiion as he drew himself along the fljor towards the bed, 
which stood between him and tho robber. Inch by inch he worked himself along under Ihe cot until he 
came within reach of the dagger. He stretched furth his arm and seized it in his long bony fingers with the 
resolute grasp which the terrible urgency of the occasion gave him, and then, with equal coolness, drew 
hiraself back from beneath the cot until he could stand upright. He now grasped the dagger more firmly, 
rose to his feet, and, leaning over tho bed, raised it in the air. 

" Mort de vie!" said Pascalet to himself, ** I shall ride in my gilded coach." 

The next instant the dagger was buried to the hilt in his back. He fell as he was transferring the last 
gold coin to his handkerchief, glared wildly at the old man, clenching his fingers $§ i^(^4ou1<I grasp him, 
and then, with a curse trembling on his lips, he died. 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MACiAZINE. 



-Vol. Ill 



AUGUST, 1838. 



No. 2. 



THE SEVEN ADJUTANTS 

OR, MY GRANDMOTHER'S WILL. 



T&ANBLATXB FROM THK GERMAN OJt KLUBRN. 



Thr loog-dmded tidiDgs of my good gntDdmother*! 
deeeaie had sniyed; tnd w her nearait of kin, tnd 
mdy heir, I had been lanimoDed to appear penranally 
hefore the judge, and enter upon the management of 
my new inheritanee. Oflkial bonneiB, however, de- 
Uined me ibr aeTeral montha in a dutant part of the 
eeomtry ; at last I left the capital with ita eares of 
oflfee behind me, and found myielf, after seyeral 
^4a]pa tniYelling, eeated at the taiU d'hote of Binsea- 
WMder wailing Ibr the arrival of fresh poat-honea. • 

Oppoaite me aat a little, dry, yellow-iaced gentle- 
mao, who, neverthelem, seemed to ^ve a capital 
Rppctite, with which he at the same time contrived 
to oo^join no small portion of garnility. I soon dia- 
•averad fton the eonverMUon which he kept up with 
tbe laBdlord and the real of the company, that he was 
m eiltieii of Klarenborg,— the very town in which my 
lite reapeeted grmidmodier had apent the Utter half 
9i her life, and which he had jast left that morning. 
Ib the flow of the atranger^a eloquence the oonvena- 
tioo Boon tamed upon my deceased relative. Many 
■r llto pemoa ptesent appeared to have known her ; 
mad il waa a gntefol ieeling to me to hear har praises 
fall from so many unprejudiced lips. He of the yel- 
lew Tiaage, howevei<.->who appeared from hia con- 
n, to hold the office of recorder in the Jittle 
^ jost mentioeed— did not approve of the terms 
■r the good old woman's will, thoegh he piotastad 
llmt with the exception of this oahappily irremediable 
Hip^ her iHwle life had been highly creditable and 
pffai e a w off t hy . From ftrtfaer exphnatiens, fomished 
hf file loqneeionB recorder, it appeared, dmt while 
mf grandmother had most liberally sided the fonds 
of the vaiiraa hospilals and benevolent institatkms in 
TleB e nhw g , she had moat ineoMiderately paased over 
As iMriliof that highfy dsaarviDg body ef men— Ifae 
#vic nOeiB of the pUce. Kot a grawhtn had dm 

'VOL. HI. R 



destined for the worshipftil town-oouncil, aider whose 
magisterial protection she had passed the latter yearn 
of her life in so much peace and comfort; although 
many of them— end she must have known the fiMst^ 
were needy enough. '* I had flattered myself," con^ 
tinned the garrulous recorder, " that I at least, would 
have got a few of the old lady's louis d*on, seeing I 
bad written all my ten fingers stiff upon her will, har 
legacies, and her codicils. They would have come 
in excellent time just now while on the route ftt 
Carlsbad, whither my physician sends me to recover 
the tone of my stomach, which has got a little out of 
order fiom my long association with dusty old deeds^ 
and such mouldy stu£ But there was not a word to 
this effect in all the windings and turnings ef the old 
lady's will ; we got our fees, and that was all ; with 
the exception of what waa doe to me in strict justice* 
I never fingered a groschen of her property.*' 

"JBut tell me now, Mr. Sander," began the boat, 
<' is it really true that old Mn. Milbbn left all the 
money that pec^de say f As you were employed in 
making the will, yen must, of coarse, know all aboni 
it" 

"Is it really true!" ejaculated Mr. Sander, aaem- 
ingly amaxed that sueh a thing could be questtoned ; 
** why, my dear sir, thera wil not a landed proprietor^ 
er even a considerable firmer in the whole coontr|r 
round about, ibr a dialanee of forty milea, who 
did not hold bobm six thousand or mght thousand 
crowna of the woman's mone y ; every hooseholder In 
Klarenbnrg waa her debtor in lesa or more, limie 
was thesmeltmg fume o e e very mint in ilmlf; end 
Henfelde, which she bought same twenty-eight yanai 
ago Ibr a mere tiiie,iB now worth, at least, firar timae 
what she peid Ar it; fimn her nttnaqr-gnands sim 
drew, at leasts three thouaand crowns dear faaial 



78 - 



THE GENTLEMAN^S MAGA;SINE. 



tb« whole province ; and if you want to see good 
«attle,gu toHerzfelde." ^ 

" Now ! And all that—*' began the hoet in a strain 
of admiration. 

*«AI1 that!" interrupted the eloquent recorder. 
'*aye» all that ie inherited by her only grandson, whu 
resides in the capital, where he holds the office and 
enjoys the emoluments of a councillor." 

During this conversaiion, I kept tracing 6gorei> 
"With my fork upon my plate, without daring to raise 
my eyes for a single moment, for I felt the bloou 
Dounung io my cheeks, and I was quite sure that my 
identity with the said lucky heir would be delected 
by the whole comfiany as soon as they should fix their 
looks upon me. Luckily, however, all eyes were 
turned upon the speaker, and I, as a stranger, and 
one utterly uninterested in the conversaiion, was 
allowed to maintain silence. 

" Oh. how aniiously all our young women are look- 
ing out for the councillor's arrival!** continued the 
man of parchments. *' Report says he is a nice young 
fellow,— of an easy temper, great flow of spirits, and 
unmarried. Now, with all this income in his pocket, 
you may easily fancy what a figure he will make 
amongst us. If he has not already lost hia heart in 
the capital, he roust lose it here; there is no help for 
that ; whether he is agreeable to the thing or not, ii 
must be so ; wherever you go, nothing is talked of at 
KlaKfinburg hut the rich young councillor ; every one 
is teazing aiioiher about him, and every one is dread 
fully afraid lest she should not prove the fortunate 
one. He is expected one of these days, and the 
dress-makera and milliners have been at work already 
Ibr weeks, for every one is wanting lo show herself 
to the beat possible advantage, and aunts and motheni 
have been racking ihcir inventions from morn to noon, 
and noon to night, and night to mom, planning huw 
beat to entrap this rare young goldfinch fur a daugh- 
ter or niece. It is currently reported that the young 
heir rpeaks French remarkably well : feo there is such 
a pariezvouing, and chattering in every house from 
morning to night, as roak^a your ears tingle all the 
time you are within hearing. Some again have 
heard that the councillor is a great proficient in music, 
and so you cannot walk from one end of a street tu 
another wiihoui having your ears stunned with auch 
a rattling of pianos, ihrumbing of guitars, and iwang- 
ing of harps, and screaming of songs, French. German, 
and Italian, as would make >ou fancy the whole town 
of Klarenburg had been turned into an immense mu- 
aical academy. Another account represents this great 
man as pabsionately fond of dancmg; so the poor 
dancing- masters are to be seen hurrying from hou«e 
to house tans intermUtion th^ whole day ; and there 
is such a walizing, and reeling, and quadrilling. — 
auch cotillons, and cavaiinas, and gavoiita, as astound 
your very aensea the moment you step into a genteel 
house where there are any young women. Ii i§ not 
many days ago since the fat Miss Hildegard alipl her 
loot in one of iheae capricioa, and came down all her 
length upon the floor, by all the world like a sack full 
ofpotatoea!'* 

At ihia piece of newa the whole oompaay bunt oat 



into shouts of laughter, and, to avoid detection, I tried 
to laugh heartily myself, but in secret I began to 
grow mortally afraid of the oonaequeocea whidi 
might attend my appearance at Klarenburg. 

£ncouraged by the approbation of hia audience* the 
recorder resumed: "People put themaelvea to an 
enormous deal of expense on account of this yoimg 
heir. The commissioner of excise ia preparing a 
concert, in which it is intended his daughter. Sera* 
phina, shall sing two bravura aonga More than aix 
rehearsals have already taken place ; but poor papa 
appeara each time in deeper distress, for Mtaa Sera- 
phina is constantly out of tune like a cracked fiddle; 
her ahake is never full enough, and her cadence if 
the moat lamentable thing in the world, though papa 
keepa whispering to her all th6 time to collect and 
reserve her breath for the trying roomenL Twice 
haa poor dear Seraph ina aung herself ea hoarse aa a 
crow ; but the father knowa the full amount of the 
inheritance, and remains inexorably determined to 
carry through the concert Then, aa for the director 
of the tobacco-monopoly, he is to give a ball, such as 
haa never been witnessed before in this part of the 
country. Cighteen couains and niecea, — fine girla all . 
of them, and really t>eautiful as angels^ — are to ap- 
pear at this ball in the dress of Virginian maidens, 
each of them carrying a tobocoo-plant in her hand 
instead of a lily ; and then his own daughter — Nina 
by name — a girl aa beautiful as Venus herself, iM to 
enter in the dress of a rich tobacco plaurer*8 daughter, 
and to dance a tola, at the conclusion of which, ahe is 
to step up to the dear >*oong visiter, and ofller him a 
pinch of genuine Spanish snufifffom a mother of pearl 
shell — But the dowager, Mra. President, b to aurpaaa 
ihem all. Her old lover, the colonel of engineers, is . 
to get up a grand display of fire-worka in her gardens; 
the cyphers of the illusttious stranger are to be dis- 
played io blue colored illumination; and at the cloae 
uf the exhibition, when the bouqiat ia fired, and while 
amid the roar and hiss of a thousand squiba and aky- 
rockets, every body is blinded and confounded, the 
tieautiful Carita, the youngest daughterof thehoateaa, 
IS to appear to descend, from the dark sky in an in- 
genious contrivance, surrounded by a magical halo^ 
and under the form of a Psyche, is to present her 
bVidegroom ta tpe with a glittering diploma of im- 
rnortaliiy!" 

• 1 will not go to Klarenburg," muttered I aecretly 
to myself, while my cheeks burned as if one of the 
colunel's rockets hud passed near it 

' And the best part of the joke,'* began the invete- 
rate talker, " I warrant you will be, that the dear 
>oung councillor will have none of all the beautiea 
whom the provident papas and mammas are preparing 
IO set before him in such engaging attitudes!" 

•• And why not ?*' inquired half a dozen voicei^ 
with some earnestness. " How know you ihatf*'aaid 
iht'y, drawing their chairs closer to the apeaker^^a 
motion which 1 unconsciously imitated. 

«* Why.*' continued this man of aniveraal aoquain* 
tance with men, women, and measurea; ** the thing I 
confeas to you, my frieoda, is not quite clear Io my- 
self ; bat what I have heard whispered ia thia. Old 



THE SEVEN ADJVTANTB. 



79 



lilt. Milbirn has bequeathed a legacy of fifty thoiw- 
and erowm to the poor-funds of the town, but has 
added the oondiiion, that if her nephew choose the 
girl she haa intended for him* he shall enjoy the in- 
terest of the fifty thousand crowns ; if he does not 
ooDient to this arrangement the intereat passes at once 
to the pool's funds/' 

" Well, and thia girl ?"— eagerly asked several of 
the saditors. 

** Aye, there is ihe puzzle !*' continued Mr Sander, 
in a low voice. '* The old lady has not thought fit 
to ntme her in her codicil ; but Mrs. General Wald 
• Bsrk, who was the intimate friend of the daughter 
of the testatrix — the mother, you know, of the young 
man — is said to have in a sealed paper the name of 
the girl, with the express injunction, that this paper 
ibe shall open in the presence of her grandson and 
two witnesses, who are to be the President of iho 
Chancery, and ihe Director of the poor's funds. It is 
iiBpossible, I say, to guesa at preaent whom she haa 
desigaed for her grandaoo'a bride ; bat it ia generally 
believed that the choice haa fallen on one of her ad- 
jtilania." 
"AdjotaDts !" exclaimed several voices. 
"Yes," rejoined the recorder, "such was the ex- 
baordinary title she gave to the seven girls whu 
iltemately resided with her. Whether she meant by 
the number teven to imitate the aeven electors of the 
eapire, — or the seven wise men of Greece, — or the 
■even wonders of the world, — or, as they were wo- 
men — the seven deadly sin^, I cannot tell. . Certain 
it is, that the old lady attached unusual impoitance 
to the number seven. Her daughter, the mother uf 
hter heir, was called Johanna, a name consisting of 
seven letters ; she died at the age of thiriy«five ; the 
old lady had declared Khe herself would not live be- 
yond ihe age of eighty-ibur, and she has kept her 
word ; when she died, her grandson waa twenty-eight ; 
ill those numbers, you see, are diviaible by seven. 
She iised to explain, with great erudition, that every 
period of seven Sabbatic years contained eighty-fuur 
Btoniha; and every week of seven days, amounted to 
tighiy-fuur Chaldean hours ; and for that reason, as 
■he explained, bhe never kept any of her adjutants 
Bore than eighty^four months beside her, and when 
■he took them, they were exactly fourteen years and 
seven months of age. None of them, however, ever 
lived the eighty-fuur months with her; her society, 
ind the instructions which' she was perpetually ten- 
dering to them, were always so edifying, -that long 
helure the term of mystical months had expired, they 
had in each case provided themselves with good huH- 
liAnds; Ttie duty of the adjutants was to keep her 
company, to read to her, to keep the household ac 
cooots, and to conduct her correapondence under her 
own direction ; the old lady always choose the prei- 
hest girls for this employment, without regard to rank 
•r birth; hot as she conducted a correspondence in 
French, English, and Italian, a knowledge of all thei-e 
^ree langaagea was indiapemable ; and she farther 
ftqaired a competent and lady-Iike acquaintance with 
■IMC, fancy-work, and dancing. The girls led a 
|V)rioQs life under her roof; she always kept the best 



company, and she took care to provide her adjutanls 
with elegant dresses, and every thing necessary to 
their comfort. She stood godmother to the eldest 
children of those that got married ; and the reat aba 
handsomely provided for by legacies." 

" Well, and whom of the fair adjutants would yon 
recommend to the young heir!" inquired the boat 
with a smirk. 

*' Which one?" replied Mr. Sander, pouring the 
remainder of his bottle into his glass. " Why none 
other than my own niece, the daughter of my brother^ 
lieutenant in the fourth militia. Gladly would I aee 
her married to him, and the rich nephew would just 
auit hie uncle's views of things. Charlotte, I aay, sir, 
is a darling girl ; she haa a pair of eyes black aa any 
sloes; her cheeks rival the. peach in softness and 
beauty of tint and hue ; in waltzing she has not her 
match in all the countryside ; she can chatter French 
so glibly that my very hair sometimes stands on end 
with wonderment at her. And she writes like a 
writing-master himself." 

** Why, meihinks," began a nice looking young 
man, ** had 1 beard such a description before I paaaed 
through Klarenburg, I would have made better use of 
rov eyes while riding thnmgh it the other day. la- 
deed, one is almost tempted to lake a ride back to try 
to pick up this paragon of all excellencies! Surely 
thai happiest of mortals, the rich young heir, will 
choose your fair niece for himself, — but there are 
SI ill, how many do you say, remaining of these adja- 
tanta? Six do you say? Why, one might still hay« 
a chance !" 

*« To be aure there are," said the reporter. 

Here I called for another half bottle of wine, for I 
needed some cordial to aaaiat me while listening to 
the anticipated review of my grandmother'a fair ad- 
jutanls. 

" In primo," began Mr. Sander, placing his fore- 
finger on the thumb of his left hand, " there. is Miss 
Adelaide Siruhienthal. That girl comes upon you 
like a clap of thunder and lightning ! Eighteen yean 
of age,-— tall and straight as a pine tree, — beloogiog^ 
to one of the most honorable families in lowni— 
blameless in reputation,— an only child, and her father 
the proprietor of two very fine estates, a little princi- 
pality of themselves. — In tecundo, there is Prokof- 
jefna Tschimaduno, a Russian. Her mother, the only 
daughter of our afternoon preacher, married a Russian 
colonel, who had been wounded in the battle of Aoa- 
terliiz, and easily conquered the heart of the minia- 
(er's daughter. Six rnoniha after his marriage he set 
out far his own country, and up to this mument has 
never relumed, as he promised, to carry home his 
wife and child. Prokorjefna has got one of those 
preiiy liiile, turnedup, a la Roxolane noses; she is 
about sixteen years of age, and presents you altogether 
with a very witching miniature figure. Fortune she 
lias none, of course; but Mrs. Milbirn has provided 
her wiih a handsome legacy. In tertio, there la Julia» 
the youngest daughter of my moat honored chief and 
patron, the first councillor. She ia one of those sort 
of beauties who look quite fiucinaiing at a distance^ 
When you observe her more doseiy, you discpver 



80 



THS GSNTLBMAN'S VAOAZINE. 



pone Imoti of maU-poxr— bat ihoy do Mt •igniif a 
W^U-^htB gill if qaite above tbauy— ibe bv aono- 
liiiiif gmnd in b#r maimer,— looki like an eniiraH^ — 
vrefy wbere takea er mther receiTet pieoedeney; 
and then for her knowledge, why ibe ii fit for a pro- 
JiBMonhip ; the it Mid to be Teiy leaerred, bat thoae who 
Inow her well, wy her mannen are only the natnial 
molt of her constant ■elf-p o w o Mion ; the it aware that 
■he knewB more than most people around her do, but 
the deet not boaet of it, only ihe hai not learned the art 
of stooping to a level with those whose minds are not 
m richly stored. Papa has saved a great deal of 
aioney, which will make her and another very com. 
ftitabla— /fi fuario 

Here the coachman came in to tell his passengeie— 
among whom was oar reporter-^tbat the horses were 
ynt in, and if they wished to reach the next stage 
iMlore night, no time was to be lost So we instantly 
lose fiom table ; but at the same moment I had finrmed 
my plan, and slipping into the adjoining room, I in- 
vited Mr. Sander to fellow me for a moment. 

I now told the recorder very privately, that I hap- 
pened to be the intimate friend of the rich heir of 
ivhom he had jost been speaking, — ^that important 
•IrasineaB had prevented him from coming hisaself to 
lake possemion of his grandmother's property, bat that 
he had given me a full power of attorney to act in 
liis name, — ^that I was very solicitoos \o fulfil the 
ivill of the deceased to its very letter, and above all, 
to implement in name of her grandson every engage- 
ment into which she might have entered, and at the 
same time acknowledge any small obligation which 
death had prevented* her fnm. recompensing in her 
Binal genteel manner, — that consequently I could not 
overlook the claims which he himself had on acconnt 
of the extraordinary trouble he had been pat to in 
arranging her settlement and codicil. 

Here I slipped ten loais d*ors' into the recorder's 
^hand, and by an act of such unexpected generosity. 
Inmost threw him into a catalepsy. 

I assured him I felt very grateful to my good for- 
tune for having made his valuable acquaintance at 
no early a stage of my proceedings, — that his very 
accurate and extensive information would prove of 
infinite service to me, — and concluded by informing 
him that my principal object in soliciting a private 
interview with him was to obtain a description of 
the three remaining adjutants, and particularly to 
ascertain, if possible, which of the girls Mrs. Milbim's 
|ireforence had destined for the hand of her grandson. 

" And though yon were to hang me up by the legs, 
lay dear sir," replied the recorder, placing both his 
hands upon his breast in token of the sincerity with 
which he now spoke, " I oould not give you any in- 
ftrmation on that point ! Nay, it was nothing more 
than a ooigecture of my own that the favored young 
hidy might be one of the seven adjutants. At all 
events I am quite sure Mrs. Milbirn did not mean to 
pat the smallest restraint upon your friend, for she 
diiected that the paper containing the name of the 
firl to whom she gave a preference, should not be 
opened till after her grandson had betrothed the lady 
who dionld please hioNlf : lo tfait, my dear sir» if 



you wonld ftaMl the intoatkms of fhe dseeased, ia the 

spirit of the old lady heiaelf, yon will net Mpeat eoa 
word of this stupid bnsiness to your friend. It ana 
certainly bis kinswoman's wish that he should know 
nothing about it, and be left quite fiee in the awtlor 
of choosing a wife. With regard to the fair adtjataatok 
I can give yon all the information you desire. I know 
them all perfectly well, and these matton yoa know 
are much more satisfactorily discussed in a private 
UUa-UU sort way than at a taUs d*Aote. What I shall 
now tell you aboat the yoaog ladies in sober truth,*- 
you may rely—" 

"To the point !" exclaimed I witli some haetinew 
of manner ; for if I had not Intermpted the knave, he 
would never have been done with his assurances of 
honesty, candor, and every thing else which 1ie was 
most conscious he wanted. 

" Well, then," began he at last, ** yon want a de- 
scription of the adjutants. If I am not mistaken I 
have already discussed four of them : Mim Strahlen- 
thal,— the pretty little RussProkofjefha, — ^Miss Julia, 
and my own niece, my brother's daughter, Charlotie 
Sander, consequently I have only to speak of tiie le- 
maining three. Bol, by the way, let hm tell yoa,-— * 
not that the girl is my nieoe, my brother-gormanli 
daughter, my near relative, — bat yoa really shouU 
get a sight of her^ — ascertain yourself what sort of a 
girl she is,— and then yon will allow, that if your 
friend, the councillor, has eyes in his head at all, he 
would choose her in preference to any girl in Ger- 
many. For my own part, I am but a poor recorder, 
and neither hope to get married, nor care for woman- 
kind ; but that girl forces admiration even from such 
a withered cliip as myself^—ehe has something so 
very genteel,— something bo lady-like, so noble aboLr 
her,— she looks as if she was bom to be the wifo of a 
councillor, — and besides all that, I can farther aasnre 
you, she was that dear old woman, *Mrs. Milbim's 
greatest favorite. * Mr. Sander,' she has said to me a 
hundred times, ' Mr. Sander, your niece,' Charlotte, is 
a treasufe of a girl,— -a real jewel,— he who gets her 
for his wife may well think himself a happy man.' 
And as for my brother, poor man, he has got twelve 
children to support on a militia lieutenant's pay. So 
you may guess how much he stands in need of a rich 
son-in-law." 

At this moment we were intermpted by the sod* 
den appearance of the waiter, annonnciog that the 
coach was jost about to start, and could not wait a 
moment longer. 

Mr. Sander rashed out of the room at this intelli- 
gence, leaving me aghast at his precipitatkm. I hi- 
stantly resolved, however, that Charlotte Sander I 
would not marry, and solaced myself with the Aoaght 
that my ten loais d'ors would be well-spent if the 
information I had now received shoulJ prove the 
means of delivering me fifom a fother and mothei^iii- 
law, eleven brothers and sisters-in-law, and an inso^ 
ferable bore of an unde-in-law. So thia vras one al 
any rate strack off the list. 

I had called hastily after my leqaaeioas Mend 1» 
beware not to reveal my name and laiarion to aajr 
one ; bat notwithstanding his nod of acqaieaoonoe, K 



THB SBVBN A1>JVTANTS. 



81 



olMrif |mw«iv«d thai hi! feUow-tnyellon wen al- 
uudf •oqMiBMd with the neorder'a aeorat» for avery 
afa wm tamad up with a kok of curioaity to my 
wiadow M the vehicle diova part. 

I ULt BOW diapoaed to bug myaalf oq the felicitoua 
idea which had oocarrad to nie, of appearing at 
KJaMnboig under an anumed character. I would 
thni^ I ihooght, be able to eacape all the hideoua con- 
cena, balla, fireworka, and other atrociooa deaigna 
which were fimaing againat ray peace and quietneia. 
I woaM heeoBM acquainted with the ground before I 
▼enlnred to do battle apon it I would have an op- 
foftviiity ofpenonally obaerving the real or pretend- 
ad meiila, not only of the feyen adjutant*, but of every 
piatty giH in the town ; and Ihoogh donbtlaaa there 
would be a good deul of aanuned complaiianco ahown 
lowarda the intimate friend of the rich young coun- 
dlhir, yet there waa reaaon to hope that I would at 
kaat aee ihinga under a leaa artificial coloring than 
they would have presented to the heir himaelf, againat 
whona ao many deiigna and complota were hatching. 
I BOW called lor pea and ink, and wrote a letter in 
my own name to the councillor Ruderick, the execu- 
'!or of my grandmother'a teatament, in which I excused 
my absence on account of uoavoidabte engagcmenta, 
but begged to introduce my friend, the secretory, 
Stiaguw» whom I had fully authorized to franaact all 
bonneaa lor me, and to whom I desired he would 
communicate ihe tenor of my grandmother's testa- 
ment. This lying epistle I concluded with another 
be, CO the effect that I would endeavor, in the event 
of my preaenee being judged indispensable, to follow 
my fiiead at as short a period ifaereailer as I could 
make at all convenient. 

' With this letter in my own pocket, I stept into the 
post-chaiae, and pursued my way to Klarenburg ; but 
the nearer we approached the town the more did my 
heart quake and Bui within me. Not that I was at 
all embarrassed at the prospect of my assumed incog- 
nito, for that I could easily throw oflf by the plan I 
had ibfmed, which was: To move about fot aome 
daya in my feigned character as the secretary Stra* 
gaw ; and after procuring all requisite information, to 
set out again ostensibly on my return home ; but to 
vrile to the councillor Ruderirk again, intimating 
the non-exiatence of any^uch person as his acquaint* 
ance the pretended secretary, and explaining what 
my motives were in assuming the incognito as I had 
done ; after leaving the good citizens of Klarenburg a 
fortnight or three weeks to talk over the matter, I 
imeoded I should return again, when any culpability 
which might appear in my conduct, would, I expected, 
be eaaily forgiven me in my character as the rich 
hair. So far all waa well, but the aouice of my 
ajEDety waa what I bad heard about the adjuUnte. 

Amid thoughts such as these the steeples of Kla* 
lenbuig caught my eye in the distance, and as the 
earriage approached the town, I felt a stifling sensa- 
tion at my heart more and more oppressing my whole 
mental and bodily frame; the town itself looked 
gloomy and repuhuve, though tinged with the setting 
lays of an evening-sun ; and I could not look upon the 
walk v^ch oontnined within their circuit the being 



whom my departed relative had daatumd fi>r ny < 
panion in life without emotions indefinite indeed, bat 
of an exquisitely painful nature^^my whole fiam^ 
waa convulsed with an agitation which I vainly atiov« 
torepresa. 

"Stop!" cried I to the postillion, while paming « 
very elegant inn, in one of the neateat villagea I had 
ever beheld, at about halfan-hour'a drive from Klft* 
renburg. " I am dyirig of thirst and muat get a drink 
here ,-^ get for yourself whatever you pleaae— beer ui 
wine." There were a number of nicely painted 
chain and tablea placed before the door of the ino» 
among which stood or sat variooa groupa of comfort* 
able>looking poraonages, which led me to auppoM 
that the village formed a favorite lounging>place foe 
the citiaena of Klarenburg. Perhapa I ahould hav« 
avoided another rencontre at present vrith a Klaren] 
burger ; but 1 could not remain a moment longer in 
the carriage, or enter the town in my preaent frama 
of mind. 

The postillion nothing loth to avail himself of my 
ii^unction, bestowed ^reat praiies upon me while 
speaking to the oatler who brought hay for the horses 
I ovtfheard the fellow praising my liberality to my 
former postillion, and extolling me to the very skiea 
for the humane considerations which had doubtleaa 
prevailed with me while never once urging him ta 
increase the speed of his cattle in so sultry a day. 
He concluded his oration by drinking-off a large tum- 
bler of wine to my* health. 

A little in front of the green before the inn was a 
railing, against which I now observed a thick, odd- 
looking figure leaning, smoking his pipe, and listening 
to the harangue of the poetillion. I saw him tura 
towards me with a smUe on his countenance, and I 
was quite sure that the party, who were seated round 
a tablo near him, and which I supposed were hia 
family, were making me the subject of their convert 
sation, for ever and anon they raised their looks to* 
wards the quarter where I stood, and then they turn- 
ed round and broke out into a general titter. I waa 
now in a most painful dilemma ; I was sure that my 
incognito had been already seen through, and so all 
my fine laid-plans were thus blown in the air before 
ever I had set foot on the intended scene of action. 
And yet how could this be possible I asked mjrselfC 
I bad never been here before;^! had not been above 
a few months in the capital itself, where it was poe* 
aible the little cherry cheeked man might have met 
with me{^and surely if I had ever had the slightest 
acquaintance with such an odd punch-like figure, I 
never could have forgotten it: — ^I had long resided in 
a diatant quarter of the kingdom ; my university studies 
had been completed in a foreign country, and between 
my leaving college and entering upon official life, I 
had been travelling abroad, yet amid all these wan« 
darings I had never met with such a Burgundy-flushed 
face,and consequently I could not be known to the man. 
I now ordered some haliB ackdU* to be brought 



* A favorite refreshment in a warm day, in some 
parts of Germany. It consists of a tankaid of wine 
or beer, with a slice of toast, seasoned with a little 
sBgar and a lemon. 



82 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



mei $ncl sat down at a table in the open air, with my 
back to the little man and his family. Before me 
Were scattered ▼arious groups of both sexes, and I 
now perceived that Mr. Sander's eulogium on the 
ladies of Klarenburg was not greatly overcharged, 
for in truth, wherever I tamed my eyes, they encoun- 
tered some veiy pretty, and in one or two instances, 
decidedly lovely laces, so that in a short time the 
place, in which I conclu^d so much elegance and 
beauty dwelt, lost the gloom and appalling aspect with 
which my imagination had invested it, and I began 
to think that a residence at Klarenburg must be ab- 
solutely pleasing to any rational young man, whose 
spirit had not been altogether soured by disappoint- 
ment, or preyed npon by morbid melancholy. The 
romantic situation of the little village itself contribu- 
ted also to cheer up my mind. The enclosure in the 
oentre was neatly ornamented with dowering shrubs 
and a variety of foreign plants, and seven fountains ; 
all the cottages were new, and built with great taste ; 
a little flower-pot was before every house, and vines 
and creeping plants adorned the door ways ; such of 
the industrious inhabitants as had finished their daily 
tasks in the fields, were now seated in the open air 
before their own doors, the women spinning and chai 
ting gaily, and the men sharpening their scythes or 
repairing their different implements of husbandry. 
£very where nothing mot my eye but comfort and 
neatness ; but I remarked that all wore a piece of 
Gilape or a black ribbon around their hats and bon- 
nets. 

** What is the meaning of this," I inquired of the 
young and pretty hostess who now presented herself 
with the goblet of halle sckaUt and whose cap bore 
the general emblem of mourning, — " is this the uni- 
Tenal fashion here,— are you all In mourning ?*' 

*^ Ah» sir," replied the hostess, casting down her 
«ye8 to the ground, " the lady of the manor, Mrs 
Alilbim, died only six months ago, and she was so 
kind to us, and we were all so warmly attached to 
her,— none of us told another what we meant to do, 
but on the evening of the same day on which she 
died, every person in the village appeared in mourn- 
ing, as you now see them. Alas, we shall never 
have such another kind mistress !" The good wo- 
man would have said more — but her heart was full 
and choked her utterance, and she returned towards 
the inn wiping the tears from her eyes. 

I rose from my seat, leaving the cup uatasted be- 
fore me, and leant my forehead on the railing to con- 
ceal my agitation from the rest of the company, for 
tile simple words of the young woman had deeply af 
lected me. The feeling that I now stood on my own 
grounds, and within sight of a whole village simul- 
taneously evincing their respect in so simple a man- 
ner for the memory of my noble-minded relative, 
powerfully touched me. I had never before visited 
the spot on which I now stood, — and yet I felt at 
once as if I had lived all my days there, and as if all 
tiiese good, simple people had been my own relatives. 
I could have indulged much longer in this delicious 
melancholy, but the presence of third parties forbade. 

On taming round towards the company on the 



green, I observed the little man's family-circle ckaely 
engsged in earnest conversation ; observing my eyee 
watching them, I hey started from each other in some 
confusion, and I distinctly heard an elderly lady-— 
whom I presume to be the mother of the group — ex- 
claim : •• 1 could wager it is he !" — ** We shall soon 
find that out," added the supposed father of the group, 
steering across the road, with his long Dutch pipe in 
his mouth, straight towanls my postillion. 

Notwithstanding the solemnity of the- feelings in 
which I had so recently been indulging, 1 could not 
help bursting out in a very hearty laugh when I 
observed the anxiety of the busy, bustling old gentl^^- 
man to search out the important truth rcspecitng, am I 
presumed, my name and mission, from the lad at the 
horses ; it was clear from the gestures of the latter 
that he knew nothing at all about roe, — ^and, aOer a 
vacillating movement to right and left, the old geo* 
tleman wheeled directly in front of me, and bore 
down straight upon the object of his curiosity. I 
never beheld a more grotesque figure than that which 
now came waddling up- to me; his face — which to- 
gether with head and hat, might have been estimated 
at nearly four- fifths of the whole figure — bore a -great ^ 
resemblance to the full moon when glowing dusky 
red through the vapors of evening; his two ear**- 
which were of portentous length — were joined to each 
other by his month ; his nose was of dimensions jpt^h 
portionable to the face to which it belonged, but then 
it looked as if it had been crushed flat by the fall of 
a beer-tun upon it; his 'little peering eyes were al> 
most concealed from observation by bis distended 
cheeks and overhanging eye- brows; and then the 
upper parts of this outrageously old figure were en- 
veloped in a huge grey and white coat of some lighr 
summer-stufif, while its legs were incased in white 
dimity-trowaers and Wellington boots. 

*' I beg pardon, sir," growled the little figure as it 
rolled alongside of me,— ^' but I believe you are fnm 
the capital." 

I bowed assent, biting my lips cruelly to subdue a 
rising laugh, as I surveyed the oomkal figure of the 
querist in all its amplitude of breadth. 

" May I make bold to ask," continoed the ^droll- 
looking creature, " whether you have met with a 
young gentleman on your road, ^ho is posting down 
here from the capital, and is every moment expected 
by us?" 

** No, sir," I replied, with a somewhat stifiTer bow, 
clearly perceiving that the young gentleman so 
anxiously expected was no other than my honorable 
self. My querist, probably, had made his calculation 
that I would interrogate him a little in return respect- 
ing the name and appearance of the young gentleman 
of whom he ipoke ; but this I did not do for pruden- 
tial and very obvious reasons. 

My friend, however, was not to be put oflT with two 
little monosyllables, however direct to the point. He 
now proceeded to inform me, that this was the third 
evening be and his family had taken a ride out to 
Ilerzfelde, in the hope of meeting with the grandson 
and heir of the late Mrs. Milbim, — a gentleman in 
whom they ail felt a very deep interest,— looking- 



THB SEVEN ADJUTANTS. 



'( 83 



Dpon him almost sb one of their own family lo to 
speak. 00 account of ihe great intimacy on which 
they had always lived with hia worthy grandmother. 
" Perhaps/' added the hateful little man, enlarging 
hit great mouth still farther by a hideous attempt at a 
imile, in which operation his little eyes almost sunk 
ODt of sight, — " perhaps yoh are acquainted with our 
dear young friend, councillor Blum, and can inform 
me when I shall really enjoy the felicity of meeting 
with one whom we have all so tenderly loved, though 
yet known by name and report only to us?" 

I DOW felt myself fairly caught, — it was impossible 
ibr me to deny acquaintance with the person wh«Me 
proxy I waa about to declare myself,— I therefore 
fiaokly informed my querest,that I had the happiness 
to be weU-acquainted with councillor Blum,-^nay, 
the happineaa to be his very intimate friend, and that 
it was in my power to say, that unless some very un- 
foreseen accident occurred, the councillor might be 
expected at Klarenburg in a few weeks; perhaps 
days. 

The little fat man on receiving this information, 
nade a movement very like a frog when about to 
take a leap, and rushing up to me — though not with- 
out shattering hia pipe into a hundred pieces against 
the ratling— rgot hold of both my hands, — expressed 
his delight in meeting with the intimate friend of 
dear Mra. Milbirn's dear grandson, — ^led me up to the 
group which 1 had rightly judged to be hisownfami- 
lyi— pressed me to join their circle,— desired Dinah, 
one of hia daughters, to attend to me,— waddled away 
to fetch my goblet of kalie schdMle, — ^introduced him- 
self, on hia return, as Mr. Z wicker, one of the officers 
of excise, — poured out a torrent of words in eulogy 
of their dear, and ever to be lamented friend, Mrs 
Milbirn, — and finally concluded his harangue, by in* 
viting me in the moat pressing manner, to live with 
him during my stay at Klarenburg, and to consider 
myself entirely at home in his house. 

I declined the o^cious little man's kindness polite* 
ly bat peremptorily, remembering the recorder's nar- 
ittive, and being quite satisfied in my own mind what 
the secret motives were which prompted such an 
overfiow of kindness in the present instance. Mr. 
Znieker, however, waa not to be so easily repulsed. 
" 1 could never forgive myself," he screamed out, ^* if 
1 allowed the intimate friend of dear Mr. Blum to 
lodge any where in Klarenburg except under my 
tooC His dear old grandmother — I am not ashamed 
to confess it, for when I first entered on office, I had 
not a peony in my pocket, and even after my promo- 
tioQ had. heaven knows, enough to do to get through 
wiib my family of eleven children — but dear Mrs. 
Milbim, as soon as she heard of my difficulties, sent 
iBy children tQ school at her own expense, sent my 
mk a weekly cart-load of viands from her own 
^0), and regularly as Christmas came round, equip- 
P^ the whole of my children in fine new dresses, 
ud lupplied them with every thing which ihcy need- 
^ to cope in appearance with their school* fellows. 
«^o got me appointed superintendent of our large 
fin-engine, and I assure you it is no sinecure of an 
office, bat then one hundred crowns are a very com- 



fortable addition to one's income, and besides. I get 
twenty more when my engine is first on the spot 
when a firo happens, — and fortunately of late we 
have had a good many fires, so that I now get on pret- 
ty comfortably. But poor, dear Mrs. Milbirn, we 
miss her sadly, she was always so kind to the children 
at Christmas; and Bernhardine there was such a fa- 
vorite of hers,— she used to s|iend a great deal of her 
time at Mrs. Milbirn's house, — and the old lady was 
at great trouble and expense superintending her edu- 
cation, which I flatter myself will not be found to 
have been lost upon her, poor thing, by the husband 
whom heaven may send her. But, my dear friend," 
added the loquaciom little man, rising from his chair 
and speaking in a low voice to roe, " between us, I 
will confess to you, I have a little favorite scheme of 
my own with regard to my Dinah, and this is the 
reason why I have endeavored to place myself in 
your friend's way before he enters Klarenburg. If 
he should once got a glance of my Dinah, I do not 
think he w ill ever bestow a look upon another young 
woman hereabouts; then he must live with us ; we 
claim his company, you know, on account of the debt 
of gratitude we owe dear Mrs. Milbirn, — and I am 
sure all the town will be dying of envy to think that 
we should have caught him for ourselves." 

The postillion's information that all was ready 
sounded most gratefully in my ears, while this insui^ 
ferable bore of an exciseman was alternately amusing 
and disgustfng me with his gross and vulgar selfish- 
ness and shallow conning. Mr. Zwicker assured me 
he was ready to set out with his family also; but in- 
sisted on Bernhardine accompanying roe in the chaise, 
in order to point out his house to the postillion. My 
rejection of this proposal almost threw him into • 
paasion, and he began to reproach Bernhardine for not 
seconding his proposal herself ; but the poor girl could 
not be persuaded to open her lips, and only expressed 
by her looks her wish that I would comply with her 
father's request. At last, on my taking him aside 
and representing to him, that if I were now to occupy 
his house there would not be accommodation for my 
friend the councillor when he arrived, the bore of a 
fellow desisted from pressing my acceptance of hia 
ofler, and recommended me to take up my quarters at 
the Golden Ox, as the best inn in Klarenburg. I ob- 
served that the postillion had recommended the Blue 
Angel, whereupon the exciseman grew more warm 
in his praise of the Golden Ox, abusing the landlord 
of the Blue Angel for a low^ worthless character^ 
who never failed to fleece all strangers smartly that 
placed themselves under his roof, and whose daugh* 
ler was such an insufiTerable flirt as rendered it quite 
impossible for any young man aspiring to keep com- 
pany with the genteel society of the place to live at 
the Blue Angel. 

During this harangue I observed the odious crea- 
ture — whom 1 now began to hate almost beyond en- 
durance — cast several significant glances at Bernhar- 
dine, who either for awhile did not understand, or 
pretended not to know their meaning ; but, at laat, 
when his countenance had assumed a quite furioua 
expression, the poor girl timidly rose, and collected 



84 



THB OBNTLEMAN'8 MAGAZINE. 



together a few plnmU and pieces of cake and eiigar, 
tb* fragmeDti of their repait, which the depoeitcd in 
her reticule^ while her father placed hlmelf before' 
her to conceal lo ihabbj a proceeding from the 
waiter. Frobabljr the old fellow read the disgust I 
felt at wiUieising this mean transaction in my coun- 
tenance ; for he immediately launched out into an 
harangue in praise of Bernfaardine's economical spirit, 
amuring me that the therein only imitated her worthy 
patroness, Mn. Milbim, who would have rescued a 
half-burnt match from the fire rather than have 
wasted it unnecessarily. 

Di^Ufted beyond measure by all that I had heard 
or witnessed for the last half hour, I tbrew myself 
abruptly into my carriage, and Beinhardine was 
scored out of the list of women one might marry. 
For had she possessed a thousand charms, with such 
a father-in- law, to think of marrying was impossible. 
I had already erased Charlotte, Adelaide, Prokofjefna, 
and Julia from the list, on the faith of what I had 
beard from Sander ; so here were five out of the way, 
and (or the other two, my firm resolution was to make 
no inquiries about them. 

** Drive on !" cried I to the postillion, with a sort of 
feeling that the sooner I reached Klarenburg the 
sooner I would get but of a place which had alto- 
gether become unendumble in imagination to me. 
" Drive on, that we may see the .Golden Ox in bis 
glory before i| is dark !" 

** What ! Is it to the Golden Ox you want to go, 
sir?" exclaimed the postillion in a tone of disappoint- 
ment " Why I cannot say how a gentleman like 
you chooses to think; but sore enough, I never drive 
any travellers to the Golden Ox but a few Bohemian 
merchanis at faijvtime, when I am driving the post- 
waggon. I believe every body would staro at me 
fi>r a fuol, and one who does not know his business, 
were I to drive a gentleman like you to the Golden 
Oz. The whole concern is a ruckle of old walls, 
and but for a dozen of old fellows who meet there 
•very evening to drink their bottle and have a hand 
at cards, the landlord of the Ox would have been in 
prison for debt long ago. Bat the Blue Angel is 
quite a difierent thing. Coonta and princes go there, 
and every thing is to be got at it which money can 
purchase. Old Weinlich knows how to manage an 
inn ; and then he has got a daughter, — but what a 
girl! I knew her when she was not the height of my 
jack boot, but now she is tall and slim, and straight 
as a taper,-^and there's not a nicer girl in Klaren- 
burg. Why, upon my honor, 1 have known travel- 
lets go half a dosen miles out of their way to see old 
Weinlich*s daughter, and will you, a fine-looking 
young gentleman like you, go to the Golden Ox I" 

** Well, then, drive to the Blue Angel !" exclaimed 
I, quite indignant at being thus made the ball of two 
rogues, each of whom I firmly believed bad some 
selfish interest in so strenuously advocating the merits 
of the two rival establishments. 

When we turned into the street in which my pos- 
tiHion's fiivorite im was situated, I immediately be- 
held the Blue Angel, standing between two large 
lamps, and bearmg his own name apon a scroll in his 



hand ; but on stepping from tha carrisfa^ a real and 
living angel stood waiting to receive dm with a sflvai 
candleatick in her hand, between two other waitaca 
each of whom also bore a light. She, howaver, had 
no need of a scroll with her name on it, for one g hnee 
at her mild blna eyes and fresh yonthfal fima was 
sufiicient to inform me that the picture of beaaty and 
innocence which now stood belbre me could be no 
other than the fair Florentine, whose praiaea had be«i 
spread abroad by so many travellers. 

Florentine received ma not like a strangar, but as 
an old aequaintanoe ; dm was sony I had lalt it ne- 
cessary to travel in so warm a day, and bogged la 
know whether it was my pleasure to join the aappOT* 
table to which they had jost sat down. 

Surprised at the polished manner of the pretty girl 
[ offered her my arm, and while leading her into the 
dining-room, whispered a good mmny fine speeches 
into her ear, to which she listened in such a nannar 
as convinced me she had heard the same things oAen 
and much belter told from others. 

The landlord and landlady rose respectfully from 
their seats on my entrance, and a glance from Floien* 
tine directed the waiter to set a chair for me at her 
side. 

Seated beside so charming a girl, who helped me 
herself to every thing I wanted, and talked of a thoos- 
and matters with equal ease and elegance, while her 
father and mother attended to the rest of their gaeati, 
f soon lost all appetite, but blessed my good fortune, 
as I gnzcd on the beautiful creature at my side, that 
I had not gone to the Golden Ox. 

We talked of the capital, and I was flattering my- 
self that I had painted the pleasures of life there in 
very attractive colors, but my eloquence seesMd to 
be lost upon Florentine, who spoke with raptorsa of a 
country life. I hinted that she might, perhaps, have 
drawn her notion of rural life from novels only; but 
she shook her lovely golden ringlets, and sighed as 
she remarked that she had spent the happiest days of 
her existence in the country. She had had, she said, 
the good fortune to have become acquainted with a 
very amiable person, Mrs. Milbim— the dear girl 
would have said more, but her rising feelings stifled 
her voice, and thus I had found out the thih of the 
seven. 

After the lapse of a few moments, Florentiiia re« 
Bumed her conversation, and soon spoke with sncfa 
elegance and such affection of my dear departed 
grandmother, that I almost Ibrgot, in the enthosiasm 
of my feelings, the part I was enacting, while I fllled 
out a glass, ^nd proposed " The memory of Mrs. ltfil« 
birn." 

"Did you know Mrs. Mil^— -" the vroid was 
checked in its utterance; for the thought flashed 
across her mind that the stranger now at her side 
might be the identical Mr. Blum whoso arrival she 
of course knew was hourly expected. 

*' By name only,'* I replied with afleoted nnoott- 
cem. ** She has a grandson in the city, who is an 
intimate friend of mine." 

** You speak of Mr. Blum !" said she with «Mne 
surprise, her featorea revealing mote than aha aaant 



THE SETETf ADJUTANTS. 



65 



they thoald, while ahe preved me with inquiries re- 
gudiDg my friend, — how old he wu » — how he look* 
edr-what character he bore»and varioot other <|uenes 
to which I found it somewhat difficult promptly to 
reply. 

«<It it said," she remarked, with an expression 
which betrayed to me the deep interest she felt in 
what might be ^my answer,— *4t is said the youpg 
gentleman will soon be here, and that he is to bring 
his wife along with him-^" 

"His wife 1" echod I, )augfain«; but here we were 
inlmupted by the waiter's annooncins a post-chaise, 
upon which Florentine, apparently as much disap- 
puioted as myself, rose and hastened out of the room. 
The girl's cunning amused roe not a litllo i bui she 
hsd flattered my vanity in the course of our colloquy, 
snd I amused myself during her absence with build- 
ing castles in the air.. . I now clearly understood what 
bad been Mr. Zwicker*s motives in so earnestly ad- 
TiiiDg me not -to go to the Blue Angel. Dinny^as 
he called her-— was not to bo thought of one monent 
longer, after beholding Florentine. But what had 
become of the Angel f Was she receiving the new 
guests with the same sweet smiles which she bestow- 
ed upon me? The thought was a very vexatious 
one, and I began to get excessively peevish. The 
^ter meaawhile entered with the desert, but ny 
anxiety could brook Florentine's absence no longer ; 
I me fiom roy seat and proceeded towards the door ; 
fivtonately however for me, Florentine made her ap- 
peuanoe at- the instant, and after having whispered 
to her father that she had shown the two new-comen 
—who appeared to be Englishmen—- to Na 7, sho sat 
down beside me at the table, and resumed the con- 
venation. 

" Not married then ! Then surely he must be en- 
gaged.at least ; the ladies of the capital woukl never 
albw sueh a prise to escape them V 

Here the house-bell again rung, and we were a 
second time interrupted by the appearance of the 
^ter, announcing a new arrival. But Florentine 
before the left the room gave me such a significant 
look Bi assured me she would be soon back again ,- so 
I kept my seat quietly for this time, only lamenting 
that such a pretty and intelligent girl as Florentine 
wtt, thoold be subjected to such a menial employ- 
neat as receiving strangen at the bar of an inn, and 
lakiog myself whether it would not be an act of real 
charify to remove so innocent a miiKi from Ihe con- 
tM B i n a t km of such a sphere of life. I soon, however, 
'>«g«n to wonder at the length of time she staid away ; 
my impttience became almost visible, and it was with 
diflicoUy I refrained from again riling and proceeding 
iQ search of her. She must be removed from this 
place, I thought to cbyself ; to leave such a girl in the 
^^^nds of such imprudent and mercenary parents was 
ui ouirageotts inhumanity ; not an hour longer ought 
(l^e to remain in her present situation. Onoe already 
bad I approached the door while forming a thousand 
tthcBiM for Florantiae's deliverance, ha| had possess- 
edioffieieAt command of myself to turn baek again, — 
^ door now opened, and Flarentine enlefed lean- 
^"^r^f sight inaupportable t— «n the arm of a major 
d2 



of hussars. 'I was ready to die with vexation when 
she sat down beside me and ordered a- chair on bet 
other side for the major, with whom she continued 
laughing and chatiing in the easiest manner imaghia* 
ble, without paying any more attention to me than i£ 
1 had not been in the room. I was about to erats 
her from the list of seven ; and yet I felt my bean 
torn by Florentine's behaviour. She seemed to havtt 
met with an old and very familiar acqueintanoe ; fbc 
they spoke of the last ball which they liad both been 
at in a neighboring watering-place,'— <and he called 
her the queen of the day, and reproached her foe 
having only danced three times with him ; adding, 
that a duel had nearly been fought about her, and 
that all the girls in the company bad ahnost died of 
vexation at witnessing the homage which was paid ta 
her surpassing charms. 

All this flattery the girl seemed to drink in greedi- 
ly ; I could no longer endure the sight, but rose to re* 
tire to my room. As I walked towards the door, my 
eye rested encemore upon Florentitte, and her beauty 
seemed to increase upon my ardent gaze. 

** I understand from iny daughter," said the hoet. 
now addressing me, and rising from taUe with all tkm 
company, '* that you are a friend of Mr. Blum's. W« 
hope to see him here soon { and would have great 
{^ensure in receiving the gentlemen into our house* 
His grandmother was a good friend of ouit ; pray 
write to him that the best room in the house/— No. 9, 
my own daughter's at present— is at his servioe.*' 

I was so much out of temper with Florentine's be- 
baviottr that 1 ooukl not help shedding a little of my 
spleen on the occasion. 1 told- him that i had omui 
to his house on the express recommendation of roy 
friend Blum, who must have heard a good deal aboaC 
it ; but that nevertheless I was glad he had not come 
in person to-day. 

** Glad that he has not come to-day !" repeated tfaa 
host of the Blue Angel, with some astoniriunent, and 
beginning to suspect that all was not right from the 
tone in whioh I had spoken: " What has happened* 
sir? What do you mean by these words IV 

*' I mean, sir," said I, ** that hie erpectatioos may 
iall short on Miss Florentine's side at least" 

At these words mine host looked utterly astonished. 

" For instance, sir," I continued, *' I am quite snra 
my friend would have been very highly diaasAisfled 
at seeing Miss Florentine employed in reoeiving all 
the strangers who arrive at the Bhie Angel. He has 
very strict ideas on this subjectr*'perhaps too much 
so, bnt at all events, he wovid consider it quite im* 
proper (o employ a young lady in such a manner." 

'* Ue is perhaps very right, sir," replied mine host. 
" His grandmother thought so too ; and I had gfMl 
difficulty in satisfying the old lady about it." 

"Indeed'" 

" Yes, yes," continued the host of the Blue Angel, 
» it is all well enough for people like you and Mm. 
Milbim, who have plenty meney, and are indepea* 
dent of the world, to rail against ns poor folks for 
want of prudence { but eoafessnew, sir, were you not 
very weU-pleased when a pMlif girl btdeyea wel- 
come to the Blue Aogel." / r\r\ri\i> 
Digitized by VjOOQ Ic 



86 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



"Dupleaied! Certainly not, sir; it ii all very 
well in itself, very agreeable, I grant you, — ^bat then, 
•ir, " 

" Every thing depends ou firat impreaiom in our 
line of biuineM," interrupted mine host, taking the 
word out of my mouth. " When a stranger gentle- 
man comes to an inn, and finds nobody at all caring 
jbr him, or perhaps every body looking cross, why. 
look you now, would he not rather seek his lodgings 
in the poorest tavern in the village so that he might 
meet with something like a smiling welcome f As 
long as my wife was young and pretty, she used to 
ttceiie the company { but my daughter must now fill 
her shoes in that" 

'* But perhaps," said I, quite provoked at such mer^ 
eenary reasoning, — ** perhaps her future husband might 
not altogether approve of your system 1" 

" When Florentine has got a husband," said the 
fiither, with an air which almost convinced me I was 
in his eye for a son-in-law at the moment, ** she may 
do as her husband -pleases ; but till then she must 
obey me." 

" Very well," replied I with an air of great discon- 
tent, and walking towards the door. On turning 
round, before quitting the apartment, I perceived 
Florentine stilUseated at table with several of the 
younger part of the company round her who were 
drinking Cardinal.* ''Oh, if the girl were not so 
provokifigly pretty !" sighed I to myself, as I followed 
Lewis, one of the most active of the waiters, to my 
zoom up stain. 

" This is a fine house," began I to Lewis, wishing 
to engage the fellow in conversation, with the design 
of pumping something out of him. *' There must be 
twenty rooms at least on each side of this passage." 

'•Twenty I" rejoined Lewis, with a triumphant air, 
'' la, sir, there are thirty-six ! And one needs good 
legs I assure yon, sir, to attend to them all through 
the day ; before evening one is quite knocked up." 

" Thirty-six rooms!" I re-echoed as if 1 had never 
heard of an inn with such extensive accommodation. 
And are all these rooms for strangers t" 

- Every one of them," answered the indefatigable 
Lewis, " except No. 1, where master and his wife 
deep, and No. 2, which is Miis Florentine's apart- 
ment." 

"And No. 3— "I began, anxiously expecting to 
hear that it was reserved ibr Mr. Blum. 

"No. 3, is presently occupied by the mqor of hus- 
sars, who came late yesterday evening," replied the 
fellow, opening the door of the room immediately 
opposite to it, on the other side of the lobby. 

I now paced up and down my room quite out of 
temper. I had never been so much struck by any 
girl's appearance as by Florentine's ; and now to wit- 
ness her insuflerable giddiness, her want of female 
dignity, her imprudence ! And then that fellow of a 
fiither,— he surely was the cause of it all ; but Flo- 
lentine must have been spoiled for all good already ; 
it was needless to think more of the matter. Here I 



* A very pleasant beverage made of hock, bittet 
oranges, and sugar. 



heard the sound of a light foot in the stair, and open- 
ing my door perceived that it was Florentine herself, 
who observing me, called out with her melodious 
voice, " Good night!" 

" Good night !" Alas / knew how little I could 
anticipate an easy repose! And yet~-what fiiols 
men are — two gentle silver-like tones had almost re- 
placed Florentine in my esteem and love ! I &ncied 
there was something peculiar in the tone with which 
she had bid me good night ; it was obvious she could 
not have been wholly engrossed with her flirtations 
with the young men, or she wbuld not have observed 
that I left the room without bidding good night to the 
company ; the girl on the whole most be better thaa * 
I had been about rashly to conclude. At ihis mo- 
ment I thought I heard her door open again ; ray 
curiosity was excited, and without knowing exactly 
what I should do, I stept gently into the lobby ; the 
lamp was extinguished, but I fancied I heard a whie- 
pering in No. 2, or 3. It occurred to me that there 
might be a communication between these apartments, 
and I felt myself irresistibly tempted to steal forward 
and endeavor to overhear what was passing. I was 
not mistaken; the msjor spoke aloud, Florentme in a 
low voice. " My love," I heard the hussar say, "my - 
only happiness, how I longed to be with yon ! But 
as for that rogue of a fellow Blum, I will break his 
neck ; he shall never enter this apartment !" 

I was about to give way to the passion which now 
wrought within me, and was extending ray hand 
towards the door of No. 3, when ray better reason 
prevailed, and I checked so imprudent a betrayal of 
my folly, by asking myself what right had I to inter- 
fere betwixt the two. My next feelings were almost 
of a grateful kind for having escaped the snare into 
which it appeared the major had been betrayed,^ " 
Florentine was no better than she should be, that was 
evident, — and the major was a fool or worse for hold- 
ing any intercourse with her. Occupied with snch 
reflections, I reached my room, where I began bitterly 
to upbraid myself for not having followed the advice 
of my friend, Zwicker, and gone to the Golden Qx, 
where— even though it might be amongst Bohemian 
merchants — 1 would at least have enjoyed more 
peace of mind than here ; the postillion too was a 
rogue, and yet perhaps he saved me from future 
misery by placing me in circumstances in which I 
obtained a full insight into Florentine's character. I 
now threw myself upon my bed, but — ^such weak- 
headed foob are men — the lovely Florentine still 
stood before me in my dreams. I remember to have 
been dreaming that celestial music floated around 
me, when Lewis, the waiter, entered my chamber, 
and dispelled the illusion by informing me, that the 
regiment which had been lying in garrison had just 
passed with its band, and that it was ten o'clock, and 
time for breakfast ; he also presented me with a note, 
for which, he said, an answer had already been twice 
called for. 

I hastily snatched the billet, and found it was from 
Mrs. General Waldmark, my grandmother's intimate 
firiend. Its purport was, that having casually learned 

from Mr. Zwicker, that an ^ntimate jQriend of Mr. 

igi ize y ^ 



THE SEVEN ADJUTANTS. 



87 



Blum's had arrived at Klarenburg, the requested the 
pleasure of a call from me as soon as possible. 

On stepping out into the street with the intention- 
of waiting upon Mrs. Waldmark, the first sight which 
net my ejres was Mr. Weinlich, the host of the Blqe 
Angel, with his wife and two ladies in an open car* 
Tiage, and Florentine with the cnrsed major in a gig, 
going, as Lewis informed me, to take a drive into the 
ooontry. *' Good morning I" cried the minx to me, 
with one of her bewitching smiles, as hoi gallant 
flourished his whip aloft, and the vehicles flew past, 
leaving me gazing after them in perfect rage. 

*■ Well, well, women are still women, I perceive!" 
was the sage apothegm which hung upon my lips as 
I entered Mrs. Waldmark's house in miserable hu- 
mor. 

The house seemed a palace^ — the staircases were 
adorned with vases of flowers, — magnificence and 
taste shone conspicuous wherever I turned my eyes, — 
and over the whole establishment a soothing silence 
and repose seemed to rest An old valet de chambre 
received my name, and I heard him pais through a 
series of rooms before he announced it to his mistress. 
I had thus time to regain my self possession, and to 
except my grandmother's intimate friend from the 
■weeping censure I had just been pasting on the sex. 
I then turned my thoughts upon Florentine, and was 
beginning to question the soundness of my judgment 
upon her, when an elegantly dressed maid made her 
appearance and invited me to enter a boudoir where 
she said her mistress would instantly join me. 

The walls of this room were covered with fiimily- 
pictures. What a modesty breathed in the features 
of the females,— all gravity, — all retirement,— all dig- 
nity, — truly the women of the present day, I cobld 
not help thinking to myself, were a degenerate race, 
when 1 gazed upon the staid beauties which hung 
around me! These were women, thought T, who 
deserved man's love, — they led a life of virtuous re< 
tirement, — and never sofiered themselves to be driven 
about in gigs fty majors ! What modesty, and yet 
what conscious dignity sat on the brow of that beauty 
in the apple-green gown ? What a lovely and yet 
what a chaste countenance was hers of the while 
flowered neglige^ ! How sweet, and yet how awful- 
ly prudent and wise was yonder mother of a family 
in her magnificent lace gown ! What a mild angelic 
countenance did that young beauty — ** Heavens!" I 
exclaimed, recognizing in the object of my admiration 
my own mother, as she must have appeared in the 
prime of youth. The frame of the beloved portrait 
was adorned with fresh sprigs of Forget-me-Not, and 
that brilliant species of everlasting Amaranth which 
our Gallic neighbors aptly enough designate by the 
splendid name Immortelles. The picture itself ap- 
peared to be smiling down upon me with an expres- 
sion of mingled love and melancholy. Overcome by 
ny emotion, I stood before it with my hands crossed 
apon my breast, while tears flowed down my cheeks: 
" My mother, my dear, my beloved mother !" I ex- 
claimed in a stifled voice, as I gazed intensely upon 
her ijnaged form, and a crowd of early anociations 
mahed upon my mind. 



At this moment a door opened, and I turned quickly 
round to wipe the tears from my eyes and conceal my 
emotion. But Mrs. Walkmark was already in the 
room, and had begun to excuse her delay, when sud- 
denly checking herself, and looking upon me with a 
scrutinizing but smiling countenance, she exclaimed : 
"Nay, Robert, you do not mean to jest with me! 
My dear Robert, I welcome you a thousand times ! 
Here, before this picture, it is impossible for you to 
retain your disguise. The features are the same, 
and it seems to me as if my own dear Joanna now 
stood in living form before me." 

It was impossible for me to aflfect concealment aiiy 
longer ; I durst not trifle with the dearest friend of 
my beloved mother. I seized her hand to raise it to 
my lips, when overcome by her feelings, she pressed 
me with maternal afiection to her bosom. 

Our conversation gradually turned upon the objects 
of my visit At first she disapproved of my incognitOb 
but on my informing her of what had fallen from 
Sander at the inn, and of all the schemes which were 
laid to entrap me, she excused my artifice, and I, 
more occupied with the choice my good grandmother 
might have made for me, than with the whole inheri- 
tance, presently turned the conversation to the sealed 
paper. Mrs. Waldmark started when I first mention- 
ed this document, and complained of the imprudent 
dispositions of certain people who could not evm 
keep secrets confided to them in their professional 
character. '* But," continued she, perceiving that I 
was inclined to attach particular importance to the 
subject, ** be not at all restrained in your own free 
choice. I cannot say with certainty whom your 
grandmother may have fixed upon, but this I can 
assure you, that she gave no express injunctions on 
the subject ; she knew the human heart too well for 
that, and you are still free to choose whom you like 
best. As for the interest of the fifty thousand crowns, 
it is too trifling a matter to be put in competition for a 
moment with your own choice in the matter of matri 
mony." 

" It is certainly not my intention," said I, **to pay 
any considemtion to the fifty thousand crowns, even 
though I should be quite satisfied with my grand* 
mother's choice. I will not deprive the poor of her 
benefaction ; but I am desirous, if possible, to fulfil 
her will to the utmost, seeing that it is to her that I 
owe my whole fortune." 

" It was not her intention to lay the least restraint 
upon you," replied Mrs. Waldmark; "and I cannot 
tell you how greatly I am dissatisfied with that stupid 
fellow Sander. The whole matter was to have been 
kept a profound secret till after your betrothal ; but aa 
the matter has got abroad, and it is most probable 
your grandmother had some young lady belonging to 
this town in her eye, you must get acquainted with 
them all. I will give a ball, and invite the whole 
circle of your grandmother's acquaintances. And 
now, when I think of it, I am glad you have come 
incognito, otherwise we should have been tormented 
with schemes upon you. Well, in a week then, and 
by the bye it will just be your birth-day, I shall in* 
troduce you to the fair citizens of Klarenbur^^ 



88 



THE GENTLEMAN^^ MAGAZINE. 



On my return to the Blae Aoge], Lewis teld ne 
that his master and party had not yet come home, and 
expressed some apprehension lest they should be over- 
taken by a storm which now seemed approaching. 
The loquacious waiter soon put me in possession of a 
great deal of information regarding bis master and 
family ; he informed mo that Mr. Weinlich possessed 
a small country-house, whither he frequently retired 
with a few particular friends, and spent a few hours 
very gaily»— news which, by the way, did not greatly 
contribute to mollify my resentment. On passing No. 
S and 3, in company with Lewis, the idea occurred 
to me that I ought to play a trick on my military 
rival, and accordingly I told him that I understood 
No. 3 was set apart for Mr. Blum, and that I had 
just heard that ray friend was to reach the Blue Angel 
that evening. I therefore expected his room would 
be got ready. 

Lewis had heard hia master propose the arrange- 
ment, and therefore had little to say on the present 
occasion. However, he opened the door and desired 
me to look in and observe how gloomy it was, the 
windows opening only into the yard. 1 entered with 
a feeling of anxiety, expecting to observe a communi- 
cation^ with No. 2 ; but I breathed more freely on 
perceiving that though there really was a door be- 
tween the two rooms, yet the entrance from No. 3, 
was completely blocked up by a large press. How- 
ever, jealousy is a dreadful passion, and will rest satis- 
fied with nothing short of mathematical demonstration 
of the falsehood of what it has once believed, or sus- 
pected to be true ; the press, thought I, might easily 
have been lifted to the place which it now occupies 
in the morning ; but when I tried to. move it, I found 
that the strength of two men could not lift it. " Very 
good," said I, pretending to be inspecting the arrange- 
ments of the room with a view to my friend's com- 
fort ; " that press is very well placed, for it prevents 
the conversation being overheard in the adjoining 
room." 

"0, sir," replied Lewis, "there is little danger of 
that, for there is just such another wardrobe in Miss 
Florentine's room ; and you may speak as loud as you 
please, you never could be heard in the next room 
But,'* he addcd^ with some embarrassment, " I know 
not how the major will like to be put out of his room 
this very evening.' ' 

** It cannot be helped, however,*' replied I, with no 
small malignity of feeling. *< I will pay for the room 
from this very day whether Mr. Blimi comes or not ; 
but I know ho is very particular, and if he should not 
get the very room which i mentioned in ray letter to 
him, he is off, — and that would be no small thing out 
of your wayr Lewis, for he has plenty money, and 
will be here, at least, once in the year, and is very 
liberal to the servants." 

"Why, in that case," replied the disinterested 
Lewis, " we must try to' get the matter made out some 
way or other ; but I am sure that the moor's lady won't 
be pleased." ^ 

"The major's lady!" I exclaimed. "What then, 
is the migor a married man ?" 

"To be sore he is!" rejoined Lewis. "His wife 



has been living here with hex sister since Easier, for 
the benefit of nedical advice ; aad the major Tiails 
her every fortnight Bat she is a great deal better 
now, and is to go away with him in a few days. Did 
you not observe her this morning ? She was in the 
first carrisge with her sister." 

I could now have whipped myself for a jeaknti 
fool and blockhead. It waa with his own wife that 
I had heard the migor conversing the previous even- 
ing. and Florentine's honor was still unimpeachable ! 
1 now told Lewis that aAer considering the matter, J 
was sure my friend would not be willing to oceaaioa 
the major or his lady any uneasinesa^ and that the pro- 
posed alteration might be dispensed with for a night 
or two at least. 

At this moment the two carriages returned (xom. 
the country, and Florentine appeared seated now with 
her mother and the other ladies^ She reproached ae 
gently for not having joined the party, and altogether 
bore herself so modestly and yet so witchingly toward* 
me that I was more deeply in love with her thin 
ever ! - 

Fatigued by the heat of her journey, Florentine 
did not appear at the supper- table, and I retired to my 
own room at an early hour, in a much more comfeit* 
able state of mind than on the preceding evening* 

I had not slept long before i was awakened by a 
tremendous thunder-storm, and as I lay listening to 
the terrific peals which rattled after each other in 
quick succession, I heard the horns of the watchmen 
give the fire>signa1, which was instantly answered 
from every steeple in the town, and the drums of the 
garrison. " Where is the fire V* cried 1, springing to 
the window and throwing open the sash,— some peo> 
plo hurried past without noticing me, others called 
up they did not know. At last a large engine came 
thundering down the street, surrounded by several 
men with torches in their hands, and I perceived my 
little thick friend Zwicker perched upon the top ofit 
with a directiog-pipe in his left hand, and a torch in 
his right. He was attired in a night-gown of lai|;e 
flowered print, with a round white hat on his head, 
and as the machine rolled on, he kept iaceflnntly 
bawling out to the crowd to follow him, as I under- 
stood, to HefiKfelde, my own pretty little village. 

I was dressed in a few minutes, and rushing down 
stairs, flung myself upon one of my landlord's horses 
and gallopped oflTat full speed after the engine. Un- 
fortunately Zwicker was right. I beheld Heizfelde, 
the prettiest village in the whole country, one mass 
of flames ! But what a spectacle ! The fijat dawn 
of morning rimmed th^ horizon in the back-ground,— 
the heavy thunder-clouds stood in conglomerated 
masses on the opposite horizonr-the lightning still 
flashed out in the distance,~a few straggling stars 
here and there shed a Cunt twinkle through the fleet- 
ing clouds,— before us the flames rolled and roared 
incessantly, drowning the. noise of the engines them- 
selves,— all this, with the shrieks of the villagers a« 
they beheld their property perishing in the devouring 
element, formed a scene of an awful and impremive 
kind, especially when contrasted with the serenity 

and happiness which I had so latoly^iQtaMifd there. 

Digitized by' 



;'e^'b^5t^' 



THB SEVEN ADJUTANTS. 



89 



la m few boon tfta dreadfal element wsb overcome, 
bat HOC befiweit bed coMumed twenty<4hree cottages, 
ud tbe beaatifal little iui which I bad ao much ad 
Bind. It was now time, I thought, to quit my in* 
cogoilo; I fOBDlved to aasemble tbe poor people who 
had loit all their property by the fire, and to announce 
to them that I WM the heir of the late Mrs. Milbirn, 
and now ibeir kindlord, and that I waa rewived to do 
t^erj thing in my power to miUgate their distress. 
Foil of tbia idea, I stept forward to the centre of the 
Tillage ; bat a sight there met my eyes which com- 
pletely engfoosed my attention. It waa one of the 
loTelieat female foima I bad ever beheld, with a 
countenance ef angelic beauty and parity, engaged 
in distributing bread, wine and clothes among the 
ODfbrtunate sufleren, who crowded around her and 
invoked heaven's blessinga on the head of their bene- 
fiMtMBS. I beard tbit lovely being address words of 
comibrt and eocouragement to tbe weeping families ; 
•he said that aho was only fulfilling the common duty 
of humanity to them ; that her fiither woold send 
them farther supplies; '<and in a short time," she 
added, ** yoor new master wiU be here, and report 
mys that be inherits not only Mn. Milbirn's estates, 
bat her lafgenass of heart and bountiful feelings. My 
father will apeak to him for you ; and if he is what 
he is represented to be, you may depend on his sym- 
pathy and asaistance. Therefore, be comforted, and 
place your trust in Providence, whose help is ever 
nearest when we most need it." 

'• Who i9 that f" I inquired with great eagerness 
at the nearest by-stander. all my feelings having been 
excited by tbe united beauty and simplicity of the 
gul. The person to whom I addressed myself did 
not know her, but it appeared that be too had been 
touched by the girl's demeanor and words, for he 
drew hii purse out of bis pocket and proceeded to 
diatribme its contents among tbe peasantry. The girl 
heiself turned round and was moving away, after 
haviog exhausted all ber stores, provisions, and money 
npon the sufifi»ren: her beautiful eyes filled with 
tears, because, as I supposed, she bad no more relief 
at hand for those whose wants were not yet supplied. 
1 now pressed througji the crowd and placed a 
purae foil of gold in the hands of the benevolent an- 
gel. I wished to have addressed a few words to ber, 
but when abe turned upon me her lovely eyes, and 
looked with astonishment into my face, I could only 
«ud mute beibie her. 

" Who is she t" I again eagerly inqaired at an old 
woman who stood near me. 

"That young lady, dear sir, is the daughter of the 
Inspector of Forests, Miss Joanna." 

Joaona was again actively engaged distributing ifae 
^(^ boonty which I bad placed in ber bands, when 
^ yoong woman, in whom I immediately recqgnixed 
tJie mistieas of the inn, who bad brought me the cup 
^i hdte ackale, burst through tbe crowd, calling on 
^en fer the love of heaven to save her child. 

It VP«ared that in the first moments of alarm and 
^iM» her husband bad left the bouse, and, as she 
^f a time lunNMed, bad taken bis little daogbler, 
^ko lay aidaap in ker ciadle, with bim; she hod 



afterwards been told that ber sister bad carried away 
tbe child to her fathec's bouse in Khuenburg ; but on 
going thither she indeed found her sister who had 
saved a good many articles of the furniture, but who 
knew nothing about tbo child. Distracted at this 
intelligence, the poor woman bad hastened back to 
the village, and had been with difiicalty prevented 
from throwing herself into the burning ruins in seaicb 
of ber child. Her frantic screams and agony were 
bear^rending as she embraced Joanna's feet, and im- 
plored her to use her i^uence in prevailing with 
some of iho by-slonders to attempt the rescue of ber 
infant. " Who will try to save the child ?" exclaimed 
Joanna, holding up the remainder of the gold in my 
parse, her beautiful eyes filled with tears. Twenty, 
thirty rushed forward ; but none had the courage to 
plunge through the thick smoke and flames. Three 
times tbe unfortunate mother made the attempt, and 
thrice she was compelled to return witb-Jier clothes 
on fire. Meanwhile I had directed the engine-men 
to keep playing upon one spot, and I now crept through 
an opening myself, amid the torrents of water, till I 
reached tbe spot which the poor woman described as 
likely to contain ber infant, dead or alive. I had no 
sooner entered the apartment than I beheld a cradle 
standing untouched, as if preserved by a special in- 
terference of Providence, amid burning embers, and 
within it lay the little sleeper all unconscious of tbe 
horrible fate which threatened it. I snatched up the 
infant in my Arms, and bore it safely out from the 
centre- of the smoking pile, amid the shouts of the 
spectators. Joanna received it from my arms, and 
placed it in the embraces of its mother. 

I now threw myself on my horse, having been 
drenched by the engines, and hastened home. Far 
more praise had been bestowed upon my exploit than 
it deserved, for I could not conceal the truth from 
myself, that the desire of winning Joanna's esteem 
had a far greate/ share in exciting me to the action I 
had jus( performed, than any purer feeling. So de- 
ceitful are the foundations on which many a temple 
to virtue iai reared! Joanna had not exchanged a 
single word with me, but the look of heavenly rap- 
ture with which she received the child from my arms, 
spoke far more forcibly than any words tbe anxiety 
she bad felt on witnessing me rush into the flames, 
and her happiness at seeing me return nninjured with 
my precious charge. » 

In the afternoon I received a note from Mr. Wil- 
mar, the Inspector of Forests at Blumenwalde. After 
an introduction in which he gave great praise to my 
seemingly virtuous and heroine action, and apologized 
for being prevented by an attack of the gout from 
waiting on me to express peisooally his thanks and 
those of his daughter, he begged the honor of seeing 
me, if possible, that very eveniog, understanding that 
I was a friend of Mr. Blum, and wishing to consult 
with me about the bebt means of procuring aid and 
shelter W the unhappy villagers who had lost their 
houses, that I might write to my friend about the matter. 

I had often in tbe dreams of poets found the image 
of that domestic purity and bliss for which I longed, 
but never had I seen my ideal realiied till I visited 



90 



THE GBNTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



Blamenwalde. I wai received like an old friend. 
Joanna had probably already succeeded in placing me 
Tery high in her father's regards, his welcome was 
io cordial ; and be spoke of the distresses of the poor 
people with so much feeling that the old man iD8tan^ 
ly won my heart. We talked of the probable aid 
which must be given the unhappy cottager* at Hers- 
felde, and Joanna's whole countenance lightened up 
when I declared that I had Mr Blum's full authority 
to settle every matter in which he was interested, 
and that I should only anticipate his intention by in- 
stantly rebuilding the houses, and assisting the vil- 
lagers by such loans as they needed. 

** You see, papa," cried Joanna triurophanily. ** I 
was not mistaken in the opinion I had formed of Mr. 
Blum ; he is just what I expected ha would be!" 

" And what did you expect him to be ?" inquired I 
with a smile, hoping to hear a favorable opinion of 
myself fall from her coral lips. 

The girl replied that ** Mrs. Milbirn had always 
spoken with a kind of prid'e of her grandson, and of 
his generous disposition. And then," she added, 
while a deep blush suffused her beautiful counte- 
nance, " I think he mutt be good, being your friend." 

We walked into the garden, the old gentleman re- 
maining within doors in consequence of his gout 
Joanna now told me that she had lost her mother in 
early life, and gave me an account of the many hap- 
py days which she had spent with my grandmother, 
■0 that I instanily recognized in her the seventh adju- 
tant, and almost exclaimed aloud in the joy of my 
heart, ** It must be she my grandmother meant .'" It 
was my first intention to return to Klarenburg that 
evening ; but I was so kindly entreated by the father 
and daughter to remain all night that I could not re- 
sist their invitation. I spent the following and two 
other days at Blumenwalde. The mornings were 
occupied at Herzfelde with the surveyors and plans 
fi>r the new cottages,— the evenings in walking, mu- 
sic, and conversation, during which Joanna establish- 
ed her exclusive empire in my breast 

On the evening before my departure she seem- 
ed to me — so vain are men — in a melancholy mood 
She said she had hoped I would have staid longer, 
and her father would miss me very much. When I 
assured her I hoped to return again very soon, she 
shook her head doubtfully, remarking that in the gay 
life of the capital I would soon forget my promise, and 
as she spoke thus she turned away from me, and it 
seemed to me that a tear shone in her dark blue eye. 
Enraptured at the discovery, I confessed to her the 
feelings of mylieart with all the eloquence which the 
inspiration of love could prompt; but what words 
could express my happiness when the lovely Joanna 
sunk trembling in my arm3, and confirmed my fondest 
hopes by a silence moro eloquent far than words. 

Unable any longer to restrain my feelings, I went 
to her father, and discovered to him my whole heart 
I surprised him by the declaration, that I was not, as 
I had pretended, a friend of Mr. Blum's, but Mn. 
Milbim's nephew himself; but I begged him to keep 
the secret from his daughter, as I had formed a plan 
for agreeably surprising her. 



Joanna here entered the room, and to change the 
conversation, her father inquired what she had done 
with her little jewel-box, saying that he had been 
looking for it in order to ascertain whether a brc^en 
chain had been mended, supposing that she would 
require some ornaments for to-morrow's ball. 

Joanna tried to hide the embarrassment which this 
question occasioned her, by saying she did not mean 
to put on any of these ornaments, as they were not 
very &shionable, 'though very dear to her as remem- 
brances of her mother and Mrs. Milbirn. ** Old Isaac 
told me a different story," said the father with a fid- 
teriag voice, as he laid his hand afiectionately on the 
fair ringlets of his child ; " it is he who has got tha 
jewels which you exchanged for tears of joy and grati- 
tude." 

** Father — " interrupted Joanna, seeming Io wish to 
hide from me the knowledge of what she had done. 

It may easily be imagined that I got the jewels 
back that very evening, which I sent along with some 
strings of pearls and corals, and a comb siet with seven 
brilliants — to keep to the number so highly venerated 
by my grandmother — with a choice of elegant ball- 
dresses to Blumenwalde, adding that I would myself 
come in the evening with a carriage Io convey my 
lovely bride to the ball. 

I then hastened to Mrs. Waldmark, to whom I 
wished to communicate my secret, but I found the 
worthy lady so busy with arrangements for the even- 
ing's fete, that I could not gain her ear one moment 
However, I communicated my secret to the old honest 
valet de chambre, whom I briefly instructed in his 
part. 

The day lingered, but the hour of assembly arrived 
at last, and when I entered the ball-room, with the 
lovely Joanna leaning on my arm, who truly looked 
in her ornaments the queen of the ball, the honest 
valet called aloud : " Mr. Blum and his bride. Miss 
Joanna Wilmar," while the orchestra struck up a 
merry air, and the whole company stood mute with 
astonishment, gazing on the beautiful creature at my 
side, who herself overwhelmed by so unexpected a 
disclosure of the whole secret, sunk almost fainting 
into the arms of her friend, Mrs. Waldmark. 

" Robert," exclaimed the worthy matron, with joy- 
ful emotion, " how happy your choice makes me ! 
This evening is one of the happiest of my life!" She 
would have said more, but Joanna was now surround- 
ed by a circle of congratulating friends, and among 
those who crowded around me was the little excise- 
man, who, amidst his good wishes, told me in confi- 
dence that he had at first intended Dinny for me, but 
seeing I had fallen in love elsewhere, be had that 
very moment promised the girl to another." " Mr. 
Wachtel," he added, " is a rich fish, and has been 
paying his addresses to the girl for more than a 
twelvemonth. I roust call him to make you good 
friends with each other, as you are now both in the 
same situation." The interview with Mr. Wachtel 
over, I was called by Florentine to another part of 
the room, and introduced by her to her bridegroom, 
one of the young gentlemen I had seen at table with 
her in the inn, on the jgvt^nmjf ^<^ my arrival at Klarea- 



ON SBEINO A DOVE FLTINO. 



91 



Ibofff . In len than another quarter of an hoar it was 
diaooTered that the (bur remain ing adjutants were 
nothing behind their fellows in the aflair of betrothal 

The first moments of surprise into which we were 
all thrown by the unexpected denouements over, Mrs. 
Waldnark desired me to follow her into another room, 
where she introduced me to two gentlemen, one of 
whom was the executor of my grandmother's will, 
tii&« other the director of the establishment for the poor. 

"It may be wrong, perhaps, Robert/' said Mrs. 
Waldmark, ** to disturb you in a moment of pleasure, 
ImC you are aware of the existence of your grand- 
■M>iher*s sealed packet, and the moment for opening 
it has arrived, as you have announced your betrothal. 
Here are the two witnesses, so let us proceed to ex- 
aminf the document" 

The moment was not very pleasing to me. Not 
that I cared for the fate of the fiAy thousand crowns, 
liaving made my choice and won Joanna, — but I 
would rather have been relieved that evening from 
all concern about business; however, my mother's 
friend wished it, and that was enough. 

The packet was now produced and opened, after 
every one had satisfied himself that the seals were 
entire. The signature was next verified, and the 
eontents read, which ran thus : 

** The fifty thousand crowns mentioned in Article 
65th of my testament, and now deposited at the bank 
of Klarenburg, are to be disposed of by my grandson, 
Rsbert, in benevolent purposes. But if he should 
happen to marry the person among my acquaintances 
to whom I have already, in my own thoughts, wished 
to see him married, as she is the prettiest, the gentlest, 
the most pious, and the best informed young lady I 



know, I declare it as my wish and intention, that he 
and his wife shall life-rent the said sum of fifty thous- 
and crowns deposited as aforesaid. The young lady 
now in my view as a fitting wife for my grandson ia 
called Joanna ; she resembles my late beloved daugh- 
ter, and is the only child of Mr. Wilmar, Inspector of 
Forests at Blomenwalde. It is my belief that these 
two young people are destined for each other ; and 
that they will live many happy years together, and 
see glad days upon earth, for they are both dutiful 
children, and are compassionate towards the poor and 
the afflicted ; and it is in this belief that I place the 
means in their hands of gratifying their benevolent 
feelings. The good seed they shall sow will be more « 
grateful to me hereafter than a monument of marble, 
which I hereby most earnestly decline." 

" So she has chosen Joanna for me !" exclaimed I 
joyfully, and hastened back to .the ball-room to call 
Joanna and her father to share my joy. When I had 
explained the matter to my bride, she said with deep 
emotion : '< The last of ray wishes is now fulfilled, in 
my knowledge that our union is attended by the 
blessing of her to whom we both owe so much. As 
for the money, Robert, I hope you will grant my first 
request, and dispose of a part of the interest in behalf 
of the sufferers at Herzfelde, to whose misfortune it 
is that I owe the happiness of belonging to you." 

Gladly did I comply with the request of my lovely 
bride, and before I returned to the ball- room I made 
a promise, in presence of the witnesses and Mrs. Wald- 
mark, to employ the interest of my grandmother's 
special bequest entirely and for ever in benevolent 
puk-poses. Joanna shone that evening like a star of 
first magnitude among the seven lovely brides. 



ON SEEING A DOVE FLYING NEAR THE PEAK OP ONE OP 
THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS. 



THon art wandering far above this world» 

Bird of the gladsome wing ! 
Tet whither in those realms above 

Art thou now journeying? 
fileek'st thou to find a spot thus high 

Upon the mountain's breast. 
Where thy tired limbs awhile may find 

A lone, yet welcome rest ? 
Where thou may'st sit and ceaseless moan 
- Thy woes, thou grieved one ! alone. 

Thou art wandering far above this world, 

Yet why stretch forth thy wing ? 
Since, if thou grievest, 'tis but vain 

To fly from sorrow's sting. 
East, west, north, south— 'tis all the same ; 

Thou shalt find even there. 
That mirth — ^bright mirth — is ever dimmed 

By sorrow's gushing tear. 



Then cease, oh cease, thy joumeynig^ 
Thou can'st not fly from sorrow's sting. 

So is it with the wounded heait. 

When broken are the chords of love- 
It longs to leave this world, and fix 

Its hopes in that bright realm above. 
Where life is calm and beautiful 

As skies of summer even, 
For sorrow never dims the smile 

That lights the land of heaven. 
When fled are all the joys of mirth, 
How gladly would we leave this earth ; 
And like the bird that soars above 
The realm of all his hopes and love, 

Soar to that land where faith alone 
Can tread — where only faith has trod. 

To find, when other friends have flown. 
Our surest, best, and kindestr-<3od ! £ 



92 



THE GENTLEHAN'S MAGAZINE. 



EXTRACT FROM 

THE JOURNAL OP A PASSENGER 



raoH 



PHILADELPHIA TO NEW ORLEANS. 



BY PKOnSSOU INGIAHAM. 
Attth*r of Lafitte, BurtODi or The Seiges, &C 



LEAF, NO. I. 

K WREVXIR'fl LUGGER^filGNAL OF DISTRltf — A TAN- 
KEK BRIG— roRTUGUESK MAN-O'-WAR. 

We w ere within sight of the Hole in the Wall, and 
the morning Tvas beautiful. A little to the loath of 
Yu, rocking upon the scarcely rising billows, was a 
rough, clumsy-looking craft, with one low, black mast, 
and an amputated bowsprit, about four feet in length, 
sustaining a jib of no particular hue or dimensions. 
Heisted upon the mast, was extended a dark, red- 
painted mainsail, blackened by the smoke, which, is- 
suing from, a black, wooden chimney amidships, curl> 
ed gracefully upward, and floated away oiTthe breeze 
in their blue clouds. A little triangular bit of red 
bunting fluttered at her mast head ; and, towed by a 
long line at her stem, a little green whaleboat skipped 
and danced merrily over the waves. Standing, or 
rather reclining at the helm — ^for men learn strangely 
indolent postures in the warm south — with a cigar 
between his lips, and his eyes fixed earnestly upon our 
crafl, was a black-whiskered feik)w, whose head vna 
enveloped in a tri-colored, conical cap, terminated by 
a tassel, which dangled over his left ear. A blue 
flannel shirt, and white flowing trowpars, with which 
his body and limbs were covered, were secured to his 
person by a red sash lied around the waist, instead of 
suspenders. Two others, similarly dressed, and as 
bountifully bewhiskered, leaned listlessly over the 
side, goaiDg at our ship, as she dashed proudly past 
their rude bark. A negro, whose charms would have 
been unquestionable in Congo, was stretched, appa- 
rently asleep, along the mainboom, which, one mo- 
ment, swung with him over the water, and the next, 
suspended him over his chimney, whose azure incense 
ascended, from his own altar, to this ebony deity, in 
clouds of grateful odor. 

" What craft 'do you call !hat ?" inquired one of the 
passengers of the captain. 

"That? It's a wrecker's lugger. Watch him now!" 

At the moment he spoke, the lugger dropped astern 
of us, came to, a few points, hauled cloee on the wind, 
and then, gathering headway, bounded oflT with the 



speed of the wind in the direction of the New York 
packet ship, which the wrecker's quicker and more 
practiced eye had detected displaying signals of dis- 
trees. Turning our glasses in the direction of the 
ship, we could see that she had grounded on the bank, 
thereby aflbrding very ample illustration of the truth 
of the proverb, "the more haste the less speed." 

Ahead of us, at various distances, were several 
brigs and two or three ships. Others which we had 
passed unseen in the night, were far astern, crowded 
with canvas ; while, skirting the southern horizon, a 
ship, several brigs, and a polacca, were crowding all 
sail to clear the banks. These it is- at all times dan- 
gerous to navigate, on account of the shallowness of 
the water, which on an average is but from three to 
four fathoms in depth, even far out of sight of land. 
In violent storms, when the waves run high, scooping 
out yawning concaves in these shallow seas, ships, 
not unfrequently, when plunging into them, ar^ dash- 
ed with great violence against the bottom, and'mate- 
rially iiuured, or perhaps stove to pieces. 

About the middle of the forenoon, the wind died 
away, and left us becalmed within half a mile of a 
brig loaded with lumber. The remaining vessels of 
the fleet were fiwt dispersing over the sea— this Yan- 
kee ." fruiterer " being the only one sailing within a 
league of us; Expecting to lie becalmed till the even- 
ing breeze should come leaping along, 

" Shivering the mirror'd «ea,*' 

we planned an expedition to board her in oar jolly 
boat 

" Steward, hand up the ship*s signal bag. I will 
make out who she is, first— <she may be a pirate, for 
what we know," said the captain, laughingly. 

As she was exactly abeam of us, we could not read 
her name, which was lettei^pd* upon her stem. Our 
flag— the brilliant "star spangled banner "^ was then 
unfolded and hoisted to the peak, from which it hung 
lifeless, displaying only the red stripes in such a dis- 
position of its folds as to give it more the appearance 
of the blood-red flag of England, than the gaily striped 
banner of America. . 'j^^||^Iy^yRD<i white signals, so 



THB JOURNAL OF ▲ PASSBNGIR. 



93 



•ifiDgtd M 10 read aceordmg lo the Telegiaphic SptU- 
lOfBook— 



"WHAT 

Bftia 
If 

THAT?" 

aext flattered gaily aloft to their station at the mastp 
kfled, and then hong down like lo many handkerchiefs 
fwpended by a corner. 

After waiting a suitable interval for some aniwer- 
iog movement on board the brig, we became a little 
ifflpatieni, and withal, somewhat nettled at the appa- 
lent naatical insult 

" Haul down those signals !" was the quick uttered 
oommaod of our captain, after a few moments farther 
delay in the way of courtesy ; and the flag and signaie 
came flattering -again to the deck. But tho moment 
they reached it, the brig suddenly displayed her co- 
lore— net aloft, very wiselyt without wind to spread 
diem, but on the qnarterdcck, extended fore and aft 
between two seamen { and tho words, 

, BATH, 

in letters two feet long, stared us full in the face, 
thereby converting our muttered anathemat into very 
audible merriment This was certainly significani 
enough. Our boat was immediately lowered, and 
manned hy-^oursdves ; and in a few minutes we were 
riding npon the glassy biliows, in the possession of 
livelier spirits than we had enjoyed for many a day. 
Even the change ftom the roomy decks of the ship to 
the thwarts of the little boat, was a welcome one, for 
the very reason that it teas a change. Change at see, 
however trifling, is a luxury. A passing spar, at tinaes, 
will ofller suflicient inducement to tempt the imprison- 
ed passenger to quit the ship and float astride upon it 
for a while. 

We soon arrived at the brig, after a delightful row 
over the limpid surface of the sea, which was so trans- 
parent that we could distinctly discern upon ite bottom 
mall Basses of sponge, fragments of coral, convoluted 
shells of various sizes, some displaying apertares of 
the most brilliant pearl, others of pale violet, mingled 
with erimaon ; the common scallop (pecten maximus) 
in great numbeis, and here and there, a large conch 
^11, (strombus gigas,) unfolding to the eye its rich 
lining of roee color. 

** Good morning, gentlemen," said the captain, very 
cordially, as we ran alongside of his vessel, and climb- 
ed ten feet higher than her deck to the summit of a 
hMid of lumber--" happy to see you." 

Bescending into his little cabin, the entrance to 
which was designated by an aperture left between 
the piled-np boards, we soon felt ourselves quite at 
home, over a bottle of Madeira, which the captain — 
aweU-infivmed, plain-mannered, Yankee sailor^- very 
kind^ nncased for the occasion. It is a wonder how 
social and communicative a three weeks' tossing on 
the wnTca will render a man. in five minutes we 
had TCfilf known each other five years. After stay- 



ing on board an hour, we left the brig, taking with 
us her commander to dine on board of our ship. Lika 
a true Yankee, (whose ideas of personal neatness or 
trimness are a national characteristic) on learning that 
there were ladies on board, he detained us a few mi- 
nutes while he donned his best " bib and tucker," in 
(he shape of a glossy blue coat, adorned with bright 
gilt buttons, brushed his hair, sleeked his new beaver 
with his silk handkerchief, and cased his feet in a pair 
of virgin pumps. 

After partaking of a dinner, for which I herewith 
make my acknowledgments to the "doctor," who 
thereby convinced me that cooking was resolved into 
a science, of which he was manifestly no in'ierior pro* 
featemt we made a very pleasant afternoon of it, and 
when OUT new friend took his departure, as the even- 
ing breeze sprung up, we felt rather more resigned to 
the sea, which had aflforded ns so refreshing an epi- 
sode in our monotonous voyage. 

These lumber vessels, which are usnally loaded 
with shingles, masts, spars and boards, have been long 
the floai irg mines of Maine. But as her forests, which 
are the veins from which she draws the ore, disappear, 
her sons will have to plough the earth, instead of the 
ocean. Then, and not till then, will Maine take a 
high rank as an agricultural State. The majority of 
men who sail in these lumber vesEels are both farmers 
and sailors ; who cultivate their farms at one season, 
fell its timber and sail away with it, in the shape of 
boards and shingles, to a West India mart, at another. 
Jonathan is the only man who knows how to carry on 
I wo trades at one time, and cariy them on success- 
folly. 

For their lumber, which they more frequently bar* 
let away than sell, they generally obtain a return cargo 
of molasses, which is converted by our " sober and 
morel " fellow countrymen into liquid gunpowder, in 
the vats of those numerous distilleries, which, like 
guide.posts (o the regions of death, lin^the sea skirts 
of New England. 

The lemainder of the day and night we had a fine 
breeze, and by the next morning had lost sight of every 
sail with which we were in company th^ preceding 
day, excepting our Yankee friend, who was just dis- 
appearing hull down on the horizon, bound into Ma- 
tanzas. We, in the meanwhile, steering more to the 
westward, ran at a rapid rale for the narrow passage 
between Cuba and Florida. The wind, however, soon 
deserted us again, and for the five following days wa 
lay becalmed, suffering under the combined influence 
of a fiery sun, a buining deck, and dazxling sea. There 
was not even a " cat's-paw" to straiten out our dog- 
vane. We amused ourselves, however, in the mean- 
while, as well as could be expected, in reading, writ- 
ing, and boat-rowing; in which last pastime, I fre- 
quently indulged— leaning for hours over the stern of 
the Utile boat as it rose and fell gently upon the long 
and majestic swells peculiar to lengthened calms, in 
company with my young fellow paasengers, ?••♦•♦, 
and B***. The former has just left the halls of Bow- 
doin ; and, true to the adventurous spirit which glows 
in the bosoms of young New Englanders, is on his 
way to the «* Great West," that incognUa Wrm of n 



94 



THE GfiNTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



Monheniei't aBpirations, to seek fortune, lame and 
happini 



« HappineiB, our being's end and aim." 

He is of noble stock — American nobility, mark you, 
is of the Mind ! — and, if I know him aright, he will 
add lustre to his honorable patronymic. 

B*** is of another mould. He is one among the 
amiable and excellent of the earth. A sincere Chris- 
tian — his holy fiith beams in all his looks, and man- 
tles in every smile.' There is a dignified simplicity — 
a child-like naivete, and a winning gentleness in his 
manner, which captivates -«t once, and involuntarily 
calls forth admiration and esteem. He is destined for 
the ministry. But consumption has marked him for 
her own. She has laid her withering finger upon him, 
and I fear his star will go out long before it reaches 
the zenith.* 

The smooth bottom, above which we were suspend- 
ed, through the deceptive transparency of the water, 
appeared, though eighteen feet beneath us, within 
reach of the oar. But there were maoy objects float- 
ing by upon the surface which afiforded us more in- 
terest than all beneath it. 

Among these was the little Nautilus, which, gaily 
dancing over the waves, like a Lilliputian mariner— 

" Spreads his thin oar and courts the rising gale." 

This beautiful animal sailed past us in fleets, wafted 
by a breeze gentler than an infant's breathing. We 
endeavored to secure one of them, more beautiful than 
its fellows, but like a sensitive plant, it instantly 
shrunk at the touch, and sunk beneath the surface ; 
appearing, beneath the water, like a little animated 
globule, tinged with the most delicate colors. This 
beautiful animal is termed by the sailors, '• The Por- 
tuguese Man-o*-War," from what imaginary resem- 
blance to the war vessels of His Most Christian Ma- 
jesty I am at a loss to determine, unless we refer for 
the solution of the mystery to*a jack-tar, whom I ques- 
tioned upon the subject. 

•* It's caze as how they lakes in all sail, or goes 
chuck to bottom, when it 'gins to blow a spankin' 
breeze." 

Truly, a fine compliment to the navarcby of Por- 
tugal! 

This animal is a genus of the molluscs tribe, which 

* This estimable young gentleman is since deceas- 
ed. Shortly afler his arrival in the west, he entered 
the Theological Seminary at Leiington, Kentucky, and 
during the prevalence of an epidemic, subsequently, 
in that city and institution, like his divine master, he 
went from couch to couch of his fellow-students, ad- 
ministering both spiritual and temporal relief Three 
of his intimate friends, one afler another, he followed 
to the grave ; and while watching by the pillow of .a 
fourth he was called away to nobler acts of mercy 
and love in heaven. He died a martyr to Christian 
philanthropy, and he died like a Christian! " In him," 
to use the language of his eulogist, " the church has 
lost one who promised to be eminently useful as he 
tvas eminently holy." 



glitters in the night on the crest of every barsting 
wave. In the tropical sdas, it is found riding over the 
gently ruffled billows in great numbers, with its crys- 
talline sail expanded to the light breeze — barks deli- 
cate and tiny enough for fairy " Queen Mab." Term- 
ed by naturalists pharwlia, from its habit of inflating 
its transparent sail, this splendid animal is oflen con« 
founded with the nautilus pompUius, a genus of ma- 
rine animals, of an entirely distinct species, and of a 
much ruder appearance, whose dead shells are found 
floating every where in the tropical seas, while the 
living animal is found swimming upon the ocean in 
every latitude. 

Dr. Coates, in describing the Portuguese man-o'- 
war, (pharsalia,) says that *' it ia an oblong animated 
sack of air, elongated at one extremity into a conical 
neok, and surmounted by a membraneous expenaion 
running nearly the whole length of the body, and 
rising above into a semi-circular sail, which can be 
expanded or contracted to a considerable extent, at 
the pleasure of the animal. From beneath the body, 
are suspended from ten to filly, or more, little tubes, 
from half an inch to an inch in length, open at their 
lower extremity, and formed like the flower of the 
blue bottle. These I cannot but consider as proper 
stomachs, from the centre of which depends a little 
cord, never exceeding the fourth of an inch in thick- 
ness, and often forty times as long as the body. 

** The group of stomachs is less transparent ; and 
although the hue is the same as that of the back, they 
are on this account incomparably less elegant. By 
their weight add form, they fill the double ofiice of 
a keel and ballast, while the cord-like appendage, 
whioh floats out for yards behind, is called by seamen 
the cable." With this organ, which is supposed by 
naturalists, from the extreme pain felt when brought 
in contact with the back of the hand, to secrete a 
poisonous or acrid fluid, the animal secures his prey. 
But, in the opiaion of Dr. C, naturalists, in deciding 
upon this mere hypothesis, have concluded too hastily. 
He says tbit the secret will be better explained by a 
more careful examination of the organ itself. ** The 
chord is composed of a narrow layer of oontmctile 
fibres, scarcely visible when relaxed, on account of ita 
transparency. If the animal be large, this layer of 
fibres will sometimes extend itself to the length of 
four or five yards. A spiral line of blue, bead-like 
bodies, less than the head of a pin, revolves around 
the cable from end to end, and, under the microscope, 
these beads appear covered with minute prickles, so 
hard and sharp that they will readily enter the sub- 
stance of wood, adhering with such pertinacity that 
the cord can rarely be detached without breaking. 

" It is to these prickles that the man-of-war owes 
its powjer of destroying animals much its superior in 
strength and activity. When any thing becomes im- 
paled upon the cordp, the contractile fibres are called 
into action, and rapidly shrink, from many feet in 
length, to less than the same number of inches, bring- 
ing the prey within reaqh of the little tubes, by cne 
of which it is immediately swallowed. 

'Mts size varies from half an inch to six inches in 
length. When it is in motion the sail is acobmmoda- 



RBHBHBBR MB. — LINES. 



d5 



ted to the foree of the breeze, and the elongated neck 
is curved upward, giving to the animal a form strongly 
niembling the little glaas swans which we lometimes 
■ee swimming in goblets. 

**!! is not the form, however, which oonstitntes the 
chief beauty of this little navigator. The lower part 
of the body and the neck are devoiJ of all colors ex- 
cept a faint irridescence in reflected lights, and ihey 
are so perfeetly transparent that the finest print is not 
obscored when viewed through them. The back be- 



comes gradually tinged, as we ascend, with the finest 
and most delicate hues that can be imagined ; the base 
of the sail equals the purest sky in depth and beauty 
of tint ; the summit is of the most splendid red, and 
the central part is shaded by the gradual intermixture 
of these colors through all the intermediate grades of 
purple. Drawn, as it were, upon a ground-work of 
mist, the tints have an serial soilness far beyond the 
reach of art." 

[To be CQntinned.1 



REMEMBER ME. 



BY MISS CATHARINK H. WATKRMAN. 



Rkmihser 

Not as thou would*st a flower whose leaves are 
broken — 

Whose rich, glad hues were brighten'd but to flee ; 
That were, alas ! too iair, too sweet a token 

To 'waken in thy breast my memory. 

Remember me — 
Nol as thou would'st a thought once proudly glowing 

With all life's early freshness, warm and free» 
For then the fount of memory is flowing 

Too highy too full, to call up thoughts of me. 



Remember 
Not as thou would*st thy mornings early breaking. 

When the blight sun shone glad on land and sea; 
Thy bosom is too proud of its awaking, 

To cast away one blissful thought on me. 



Remember me — 
E'en as thou would'st the autumn leaf that's lying 

In solitary sorrow by the tree, 
Clinging to what is loved in life ; tho* dying, 

'Tis thus I'd have thee sadly think of me. 

Remember me— 
As thou would'st call back some old strain of sweet- 
ness. 
Whose melancholy breathings pleasur'd thee; 
And when thou sighest o'er its vanished fleetness. 
Then 'waken in thy heart one thought of me. 

Remember me — 
Sadly remember me — for I am lonely. 

And pleasant things are but a mockery ; 
liwould be with thee in thy sorrows only, 

Therefore, in grief, I pray, remember me. 



LINES. 



We are fading away— we are fading away ; 

We'll be gone ere long from the earth ; 
Ere the leaves of spring shall have sprung from 
decay. 

None will know that we ever had birth. 

We are doomed— we are doomed— our stay is not 
here. 

Our home's in the dark, noiseless tomb; 
Tho* we love the bright earth, and to many are dear, 

ret we cannot remain, for we're doomed. 

Well bo gone — we'll be gone — when the first rose of 
spring 
Shall open to beauty and light ; 



We'll break thro' those ties which to fond hearts will 
cling — 
Far away will we hasten our flight. 

Our lov'd ones— our lov'd ones — are taken before ; 

We cannot remain, now they're gone ; 
Away thro' the realms of vast space we will soar. 

Lest without us they there feel alone. 

Then, farewell! oh, farewell! to you, friends of mf 
youth ; 
Oh, think of me when you're alone, 
And to you, when away in the mansions of truth. 



90 



THE OENTLBMAN^S MAOA2INE* 



THE LOVE OF WOMAN 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 

BT THK AUTHOR OF THE WBIELPOOL; 



PERSONS. 
Eustmche, 



Genult, 
Officert, Cent^artnei, &c, 

Annabelle, 

Marguerite^ 

Ptatantryf trc. 



PART I. 

Scime — The Country near Paris — Evening,^AssA' 
BKLLE, Maequeeite J Peasant Girls, ^c. dropping 
of by degrees, * 



Annabilli, {taking Mabgotkrite by the hand,) 
Light-hearted France, whose deepest groans are 

breathed 
To mernr pipes and mirth-resounding feet, 
When wilt thou learn to feel ? O, what a brow 
Were this to sparkle in some clime of laughter, 
Where nothing witherM, saving guilt and grief! 
There it were lovely as the smile of seraphs 
Descending heaven to bring a spirit home — 
Bat here the paler the more beautiful — 
This eye more wet with pity were more bright — 
This voice more tremulous, most musical ! 

Mar. Sweet Annabelle, why dost thou weep? 

Ann. Alas ! 

Has not each day borne weeds and widowhood 
To every hamlet of romantic Seine T 
Broke in the midst the lively vintage song. 
And made it end in tears and lamentation ? 
O, we have friends and brothers! 

Mar. We have lost none. 

Ann. We have the more to lose. Those crimson 
streets 
Of the dread city never will be dry 
Till every eye and every throbbing rein 
Has paid its tributary drop—Didst hear 
That leaden sound oorae shuddering through (he air ? 
Didst hear it, Marguerite f 

Mar. Too true, I heard 

The ceaseless voice of that inhuman engine 
Telling its tale of death. 

Ann. And canst then gness 

What spirit, newly freed, Boats on the wind 
That pasNi ns T This mom we might have told 
Each star that fi>rm*d the blessed constellation 
About our hearts— How may we count them now ? 

Mar. Thy fimey is too busy. More than this 
I shar'd with thee at first, bat frequent horron 
HaT« giown fiimiliar ; and the won in battle, 



Though he can iind a sigh for those who fall. 
Forgets his fears for those toko may. E'en thou 
Hast not been long a yellow leaf amidst 
The purple wreath of mingling gayety. 
Circling our rustic homes. l*ve seen thee daak 
Thy tears away, and seem the very soul 
Of mirth and frolic innocence. E'en then 
I've seen thee — ^hen yon fatal sound, as novr/ 
Brought its black mandate through the etill, soft 

night. 
To stay our steps, and cast an eye to beav*n — 
Yield thy unclasped hand to him thou lov'st, 
And force thyself to happiness again. 

Ann. True — I have much to mourn. 

Mar. Bat yet not this-* 

Some recent grief reflects its vividness 
Upon the fading colors of the past. 
The time's gone by thou shouldst have been a bride i 
And thoujiost talk no more of the young soldier 
Who was so dear a theme. 

Ann. It is because 

A worthless maiden's words cannot enrich him. 

Mar. Why art thou changed ? 

Ann. I am too much the nme. 

JIfar. And he has proved unkind f 

Ann. O, not onkind'. 

Yet, if he were, what right have I to blame himf , 
I had no claim upon his love — no more 
Than the scorch'd pilgrim on the summe^bteexe, 
And could not chide it when it pass'd away. 
Save with my tears. 

Mar. And hath it pass'd awayf 

Forget him, Annabelle. 

Ann. The wither'd flower 

Forget the dew that bath'd its morning blossonk— 
The orphan*d heart forget its mother's breast! 

Mar. Then will I lose thy love, and tell thee all. 

Ann. Hold, I beseech thee, Margnerite, if aaght 
Thou'dst speak disparagingly of Eustache— ^ 
He never spoke so of his enemies. 

Mar. But does so by his friends, ft is not jiBrt 
To let thee mourn for what thou shoaMst deeptoa. 
Thou dost remember the chateau hard bjr. 
Whose airy pillan, fran their spiry knal£-^§ LC 



THK I.OTB OV WOMAN. 



Vf 



C\mw0d, M we ftncied, the red •tntik^ ran-eel 
Into iqaare fnriitoei of flane f We i«t 
Amidit tbe amplullieatte of v'meytdB, 
Wbjch, twiniog m their playful ittiiiry, 
Ieap*d up to icreen the low plehien world 
Fxon in while walle and ruby studded windows 
Oi what ioft words then oiiAgled with thy leul, 
lake breath of fooei^ with tlie breeie about ua! 
What joy and ibndnen danced in hit dark eye» 
Ai if they h^ been ooDjur*d into life . 
By the aweetmnaic of reapoofliTe hearts! 
1 gazed apart upon the happiest jpair 
That ever sigh*d the twilight hour away. 

ilfm. Talk on— the memoiy of departed blks 
Ii the most dear of sorrows. 

Jfor. I employed 

My solitude in watching your lips move, 
And giving meaning to each gentle gesture. 
I thottghflyou playfully described some ftir 
And wealthier maid to his reluctant ear; 
Made her the mistress of that sweet chateau 
And vineyard wilderness, then crown'd her worth 
With love for him, almost as true as thine. 

Ann. I then could jest with him. 

^^' He look'd reproach, 

P^ess'd your soft^cheek to his, and fondly pointing 
To yon small star which shone so constantly 
Direelly o'er your honeysuckled cottage, 
Seem*d as he swore bis happiness and fate 
Were ruled by that and thee. 

^»«- Well,Maiguerite— 

My team prove how I liiten. 

^r' I have done ; 

There if a mistress of that tempting home, 
And the fair star that governs thy Eostaohe 
Hath passed into another sphere. 

Ann. And there 

May it remain, and beauteous Mathilda 
Prove worthy as most fortunate and lovely I 
Mar, Speak you so fondly of her ? 
Ann. And why not ? 

1 loved her ere I did suspect the tale 
Of which you deemed me ignorant; and now 
22tt love assurea me that I judged her well. 

Uir, Sweet Aimabelle, if she deserved your praise 
She would not steal away your early hopes. 
(^<ni]d yoci be happy in the smiles of falsehood— 
RM^ive the sighs of a oold, truant heart, 
^fhSkt every one was wafting the faint life 
IVoaiiBDOoenoe that pined in virgin faith f 
0. oo! Be SUM what he hath basely won 
Will prove as base in value, 
'^"n- Look-— he comes! 

J^ He dares 9 Oh no, this cannot be Eustaohe ! 
How changed hia spirit from the days of pride, 
When ooQscioiis innocence upheld his head ! 
f tlaehood and shame have crushed him like a vrorm, 
^ riveted hia onoe bold eye to the dust! 
^M. Leave me» I pny yen— I would wish him 
happy, 
fioow I resent not— paidon him» and say 
f tiewell— much, much, thai aheikes me to pronoance, 
^ him no jot to hear. Nqr,weepiiolfeBe^ 



It is an office tet I can do myaelf. 
Toung soul, and did I blame thee for not fteling f 
Resume thy smiles, and never know the pang 
To be fonaken f 

Annabxzxx, Eitbtachx. 

Ann. Wekome, dear Eoiladit ! 

We hava been strange of late. 

Eut. I have deMrvid \ 

Reprotfch, and fear*d to meet it, Annabelle. 

^Atuu Reproadi firom me.' O, never! 

Eu8, Then you eetet 

To love T ' 

Ann. It is a useless queetion. Mb ; 
I can be constant and ask no return. 

Ems, I am a wretch whom you should aoom, not 
love. 
And Bcaroehave virtue to declare my vileneas. 

Ann. Needs there excuse to me for choosing her 
Whom you love best f Did I not always pray 
That no devotion to a hasty promise 
Should be as futal to yourself as want 
Of worth to me f Indeed, most dear Eostache, 
I shall be happier to see you happy 
With her you love, than wretched with mysel£ 

Eu9. Thy shame for me hath spared my tagM 
what well 
Might wither it What shaU I say, thou dear one t 
(For dear thou art, though I am false to thee.) 
Entreat thee to forget t I who besought 
Thy love so long^-and bade thee swear, and teU 

thee 

What years of paradise eAch bnAen vow. 
Like a loes'd fiend, drove withering from thy hopes ! 
And shall I urge thee to receive some other, 
Who more deserves thee, to thy wounded boeoni f 
I who so often sigh'd upon that altar 
My shadovvy jealousy—my causeless dreams. 
Of where thou nughi*8t have' lavished thy young loTa 
Had we ne'er met t I who did fear to die 
Lest I should leave my sacred place to one 
Who might more dearly fill it ? 

Ann. O hush, horiiS 

Though I must love to hear of other times, 
I would not boy the pleesure at thy paiiL 
O, why shouldst thou look back ; who haatao nnoh 
Of joy before thee ? 

Eus. Joy for mdt— in what f 

In constant fears that those in whom I trust 
Will leave me to the lonelinesi of those 
Who trusted flief Is there a spot on earth, 
A hue in heaven, which hath not something in it 
Which we have dwelt upon together ? Somethiilg 
To frown remembrance, penitence, despair ? 
Is there a virtue blooming in thia woild 
Which will not show thee in thy meek fbigiveiunif 
Is there a crime which will not make me shnnk 
By clahning kindred with the one 'gainst thm t 
Is there a beauty, bright above the reat. 
Which will not teU me she whom I loneok 
Poaseas'd it in a blush more P'^'*"*'"*^*p.Q|p 
O, AnnabeUe ! I came U> theein fear» ^^i^ 



98 



THB GENTLEHAN^S MAGAZINE. 



Bat etill prepared, and anzioiu for reproach ,* 
Not to be cuned with pardon. 

Ann, MiMt I not 

Remain your friend ?-— This morn, while* yet the 

lun 
Dwelt with a crimson mist upon our vineyard. 
And purple clouds J ike happy lovers, stole 
With smiles and tears into each other's bosom, 
I threw my lattice wide to drink the stream 
Of liquid odors rolling from the south ; 
And then came raiz*d wiih it a marriage song. 
Whose distant melody did seem to dance 
Upon a hundred lips of revelry. 
And bells and flageolets, and all the sounds 
Befitting happiness and summer sunshine. 
'Twas a strange thing to weep at, yet I wept— 
I know not why. — Some weep for grief, and some 
For joy — but I for neither, or for both 
Miz*d in a feeling more beloved than either, 
Which weigh*d my heart down like a drooping 

bough 
O*erloaded with its luxury of roses. 
And then— and then — the thoughts of silly maids 
Run wilder than these roving vines — I found 
My hands were clasp'd together, and my spirit 
Stole from my eyes with a dim sense of prayer, 
Which had no words. I begg'd a gentle fortune 
Upon the newly wedded — pray'd I not 
For thee, Eustache I 

EuM, * I thought I had no more 

To tell thee. 

Ann. Nor thou hast, Eustache ; Til guess it. 

I know not— I — I shall speak presenfly. 
I pray thee think not that I grieve thoo*rt happy ; 
Fur e*en the victim that courts immolation 
To win the garden, blooming with bright stars. 
Will writhe beneath the blow that sends it thither. 

Eus. O, if thou meet'st the life that's due to thee, 
How oft thouUt drop a pitying tear for him 
Who madly did desert his share of it? 

Ann. Not madly— no. Be cheerful, dear Eus- 
tache— 
I shall do well enough — ^l must love still, 
For that is life, and that thy bride will spare me: 
But here is that which I have worn for years. 
Smiled with, and wept with, and almost believed 
It understood me. O, if 'twere but so. 
And could but speak, I would enjoin it tell thee 
When'er a truer heart did beat against it. 
Take it — it is Mathilde's — but do not think 
I yield it up in anger or in pride — 
No, dear Eustache — no more than dwells within 
The fond kiss given with it then and now. 

EuB. The first dear present of accepted love! 
O, hide it — stamp on it — let it be dust— 
For such I made the lineaments of one 
More faithful, and, like thee, forsaken. 

Ann. Ah ! 

The fierce Menon ! Mathilde's deserted lover! 
I have a chill foreboding — he hath ne'er 
Enjoy *d the bliss of pardoning a wrong. 
And has a heart that would not shrink from blood, 
Though 'twere hia father's. 



EuM. He is freely welcome 

To every drop of mine, for I do long 
For some dire, speedy vengeance to o'ertake me. 
Thou ne'er wilt know the shuddering of that pauw 
When guilt awaits iu meed. 

Ann. What men are theae f 

Eus. A troop of minions from the city bandita. 
Reeking from carnage, and in search of fresh^ 

Ann. O, wherefore should th' nnhallow'd mia- 
creants 
Bring here their death denouncing steps f Enstache, 
Thou'st shown too oft thy manly indignation 
Against the murderers — ^thou hast cross'd their palht 
With speech and sword till thou hast ronsed their 

- hste — 
Ah me ! thy virtue was enough for that ! 
Indeed thou mtist not meet them^ 

Eut. Nor avoid^- 

l scorn'd the wretches when my life was precioui — 
I have less need to fly them now. 

Annabelijb, Eustache, Geeault, Officer, ' 
AMD Gkns-p'Armbb. 

Ger. Eustache, 

Thy hand— we once were comrades.' 

Eut. {turning from him.) Once. 

Of. Tboa hut 

Some certain friends, Eustache, who see with pity 
Thy daily horror at these grievous times- 
Some who would spare thee its continuance. 

Eu8. 'Tiskind, indeed; and for the courtesy, 
1*41 pray for them and thee that you may find 
The good you give, and that right speedily- 
Come, sir, unfold. 

Ger. Thou'rt snmmon'd fo thy triaL 

Eus. Most rapid payment! fatal, but most just! 
Sir, I am too straightforward to love forms — 
Death cannot come more welcome than to him 
That's out of love with life. Tour mock tribunal 
Will never hear me plead to it, nor revel 
In the sweet pastime of denying mercy 
To suppliant Eustache; therefore, at once, 
Beseech you, feed your longing to behold 
The bbod that spurns you. {To AnnMle.) Mote, 

thou faithful one ! 
Thou'lt not be so where tones like thine are heard. 
On, sir — I am as ready to be led 
As thou to lead me. 

Ger. Now, by heaven, young soldier, 

Thou'st made me hate my oflice. I have heard 
The howling of a thomand recreants 
Unmoved, but tamely to destroy the brave 
Is the worst blot on bravery. 

Ann. {rushing to him) Bless thee, bless thee ! 

Thou wilt return, and take, instead of blood. 
All good men's prayers for ever ! 

Ger. Would I could— 

But see, (pointing to hit atiendantt,) 'tis past my power 

to befriend him ; 
A word would make me partner in hia fate. 

Ann. Art thou not human t 
' Of, {advancing to Euttache.) We delay too long. 



THE LOVE OP WOMAN. 



99 



Amh. (JUnging one arsi round EuslackSf and €ppo$- 
ing with the other.) 
Stand off! who dare« lo place a villain*! band 
Upon Euatache t I can be proud aa hamble, 
And will not sue to these for e*en thy life— 
Dd yoa not hear ? lead on ! 
£ic& And 00 farewell ! 

Ann, Leave thee! / leave thee! Let Mathilde 
enjoy 
Tliy aonahloe-^in theitorm thou'rtmine again' 
€>f. (piaeing hit hand upon Aer.) We most divide 

yoa. 
£ta. Hold ! (to GeravU.) Thoo'rt len a 

wretch.. 
Lead her with kindnoM hone; she's young in sorrow, 
And never learnt hard nsage till 1 taught her. 
Fare well , farewell ! [Exit toith the retL 

Aim. ^aOing into the arm$ of Gerault,) 

Now thou art false indeed ! 



PART II. 

ScBMB— 3fottAnar<re. 

AlfNAIBLUE, GXKAITLT. 



Ger. 



RxffT— rest, poor maid. 

'Tis all one world of black; 
No hill, no tower from its vapory bed 
Leapa up lo mark the bounds of earth and heaven. 
The atarsp too, glide and glimmer underneath ua 
like those above. Where are we, gentle guide f 

Cter. These lights are burning in the sleepless city. 
TtuB height thou hast trod with happier feet ere now— 
Bewilder'd girl, dost thou forget Montroartre f 

Ann. O, thoa dost well remind me ff for this acene 
Is known aa loved, and that is truly. Here 
Each summer eve I parted with Eustache, 
And first did learn to weep. 

Ger. And here, as then, 

I'd have thee think npon thy peaceful home. 
And learn to amile again. 

Ann, To smile! on whom? 

Thou madcst a promise and an oath. O think 
How base is he who cheats the broken-hearted ! 

Ger. Mistrust me not. I grieve, but will be faithful. 

Ann. So shalt thou gain a blessing which thoi^'U 
count 
Amongst the sunbeams of a stormy life : 
A scatter'd plank to save thee from despair 
When seas of blood would overwhelm thy death-bed- 

Gfer. Yet *tis a fearful place thoo'dst have me show 
thee. 

Aim. And fearful is my need. Thoa'rt wavering 
still; 
TUneoath! remember! 

Ger. I sospect ihy porpoae 

Is aooething deaperate. At thy feel, sweet maid» 
I do beaeechiby pity on thyself: 



Ann. Came 1 not here in pity of myself? 
Here lies our downward path. I do believe 
That thou wert made for tenderness and virtue. 
And walk'd in crime by accident Alas! 
i can but pay thy labor with my thanks. 



A Priaon. 

EUSTACHI ANDGuAAO. 

Eu$. The boars pass slowly—tell me, if you will. 
How near my last approaches f 

Guard. It is midnight 

Already. 

Eus. The last minute that was granted 
To my desire, and yet Mathilde not here f 
I did entreat a swifter messenger. 
^ Guard. Perhaps the maid is wise, and better lovea 
To meet new friends than say farewell to old. 

Eui. And wilt thou jeer the dying f If ihy soul 
Were not too crusted in with blood and murder, 
I could relate enough to make it human. 

Guard. So every one of you believes his fate 
The hardest ; and, for partings and last wills. 
And whatsoe'er comes readiest, implores 
Fresh work for the tribunal's ministers, 
To wait and watch till he hath heart to die. 

Eu». Was it for dread of death I ask'd to live f 
Thou slanderer ! What if the same wild day 
Beheld thee wreathed in blushing bridal fetters, 
Then saw them sudden changed lo links of iioo, 
And these so soon to yield their victim up 
To bondage in a blood*bedappled shroud f 
Wouldst thou not long for some fond, faithful ear, 
To listen while thou saidst, "Theee things are 
strange f " 

Guard. But still this wonderer comes not 

Eut. Poor Mathilde! 

Wedded and widow'd in a day, thy spirit 
Hath too much woman in it not to sink ; 
Thou canst not come. Yet she whom I forsook 
Was firm and fond enough to share ray dungeon! 
I heard a knocking! 

Guard. 'Twaa the workman's hammer 

Joining the sledge that bears thee to thy doom : 
Thou art more honor'd thsn the herd of culprits. 

Eua. (ta deep thought.) I tempted thee to falie 
hood^Can it be 
Thou wert too apt a pnpilf Fie! Mis savage 
To doubt thy truth ere yet the virgin blush 
Harh left thy cheek. Thou will be here.— A cry!— 

Gmard. It i« the rabble erowding.round thd portal 
To see thee pass. The guard is turning out. 

Eue. My heart beats strangely lest she should not 
come! 

Guard. Why, thou dost shake ! 

Eut. No matter ; aay 'tis Dnv i 

And though thou liest, I will not tell thee so— 
My mind's too busy to care what thou think'st— 



I cannot die until I 



h.TSiJiisSiiirfi^S''***' 



100 



THB GSNTLBMAN'S MAGAZINl 



Eternal hatred of the Ibe whoee hand 

In secret naliee writee me dewn for caniafe ; 

I cannot die till I have bade thee love 

The pooi^poor iojnied Amiabello (Jknodtnig,) Thaa 

heard'at f 
It it a knocking* and now death is over — 
And I'm in heaven. .My wife! Mathilde ! 

[The door opetu, and Merzon etOer: 
Merxon! 
Mer» Thou sent'st a message to Mathilde, Eustache. 
Eus, And did she fix on thee to bring the an- 
swer? 
Mir. Did she not well chooee so dear a friend t 
I have been comforting the wedded maid, 
And come to say how well she is resigpa'd 
To give thee to a better world. 

Eui. TkM comfort her f 

The loathed, the spiim*d Menon, whom, heaven judge 

me, 
I j^itied in the distance I did fling him t 

Jtfer. Thott wort indeed ilmoat victorioos : 
Therelbre 'twas needful to remove theeqoickly. 
Ens. And wilt thoa boast thon wert* not brave 



To meet with an equal manlinem ? 

Mer. Were the wrong equal, so were our ooDteo- 
tion ,* 
We do not yield the robber stab for stabw 
List, for thy time is brief. Thou didst believe 
That thou wert wed to never-dying iaiih. 
Which, shadow-like, would folk>w all thy fortanes 
With equal steps— presumptuoas espirant ! 
What -claim had'st thou to excdlence so far 
Above the reach of more deserving men 7 
Thy truth to her to whom thou first were plighted 1 
What hope f thy bride's tried constancy to «« ? 
Alas ! thou'lt find her weak and wavering 
As thou thyself? 

Eus. Thou shameless and despised ! 

If such the prize, why has the loss of it 
Thus driven thee to damn thyself I 
R Mer. 'Twassaid 

I lov'd the maid — 'twas tme — I lov'd her beaoty. 
Twaa said she had discarded me ibr thee ; 
And this was true. Now tell when mortal man 
Hath laid his hand oo aught that pleas'd the will 
Or deck'd the honor of Merzon, and lived f 
What more ? I poss'd into the revel throng, 
And sate me by the mistress of the least 
Some marveird that thy absence shonld so far 
Belie thy promisr; some that thy place was fill'd 
By flie, the whilst the bride spoke tremblingly 
To bid me welcome to the wedding cheer. 

JSm. To make thee seemed of others as of her. 

Mer. The time went by— the pausing mirth re- 
vived. 
And all believed I came in friendliness 
To banish idle fears of my revenge; 
While, 'midst the busy sounds of lute and song, 
I told my grie^and woke asofk remone 
In her who listened. 

Bm. And who listen'd only 

For a defender from thy eoiwd tongue. 



Mn. Shesigh'daDdwept— "ShekaewnothilfiDy 

love, 
She had been rash; yet, since the deed was done. 
We must henceforth meet only in onr pnyen." 
At length comes one with ghastly free to teB 
The dire mischance which had befairn die brid^ 



And there were wonder and becoming woe. 
And tears in some, and prophecies recalled, 
Which beldames muttered ere yon left the altar- 
How two false-hearted never could be bleat. 
And sudden wrath would follow. And what thent 
The scared Mathilde sobb'd loudly with a£fright 
And disappointment of her marriage hopes ; 
Whilst I renew'd the ofler of my love, 
And kind forgeifulness of all the past. 

Eu§, Ay, and she spum'd thee. 

Mer. No; she was too thankfoL 

Eue. O. my good guard, be blest, and loose my 
chains 
One instant while I tear this liar piecemeal. 

Mer. Ales, poor youth, thou hast not strength 
enough 
To carry thine own weight! I will have done. 
A season pass'd in pitiful remembrance. 
And decent weeds, shall faithfully be pud thee ; 
Nor will I chide her if, in after times. 
She drops a wandering tear upon thy tonfb. 
Or lulls me with the strain you taught her. 

Eus. Monster! 

He hath destroy'd her, or she had been here 
To scare him back to hell I 

Mer. She is oome here 

To witness what I speak. Behold the ring 
Which made you one. She drew it from her finger 
With horror, lest some unimagined judgment 
Should fall upon the wearer ; and returns it 
By me, with pray'rs, that ihou wilt die repentant. 

(To himt^, a$ he wdke dmOy wO, loekhug 
Readily hack upon £iistedhe.) 
Ay! doth he writhe f*-he made me live in tomMt; 
And thus in torment will I have Aim die. 

Eue. iclaaping hU hande.) Be meceiful, and teach 
me, ere I die. 
That this bad man doth wrong her! 

Ouard. Ck»me^ prepeNk 

Eue, Not yet — ^not yet 

Guard. We hav« deiay'd too long. 

I do endangec my own safety. 

Eue. ^ Oh! 

If thoa dost die for sparing me one hour, 
Thy sins will be forgiven! 

Guard. Impossible— 

I pity thee, bat have no power to spore. 

Eue. {kneding.) Look— loek— I kneel lo thee, mA 
thoodest weep. 
I am afraid to die. 

Guard. Thou hast baen brave; 

Go nobly to thy death. 

Eue. And so I will; 

Let me bat knew ny wife is innocent, 
My blood Aidl gush with Iwighlar fiwiiDgf rtkml 
Digitized by VjOOQIC 



XH& LaVB or WOMAN. 



101 



EUBTAOHX, GUAKD, GKNS-D'AKIII. 

J^M. Now, now, Toy memmigm, let loose ihy 
wordf, 
like one that's pleading for hia life. Thou iaw*it 
llathilde. 

Qtnt-d'Arwte, And did thy menage-^ 

Bum. And the answer T 

Qen§-d'Arm9^ The ladj wept, and aaid a friend 
would bring it 
{Euttacke dashes Idmtdf upon the grownd,) 
IWeieen Euaiache stand boldly in the battle. 

Guard, Would he had died there! it hath wrung my 
heart 
To look upon his anguish. His accuser 
Was here but now to crush him with the news 
Of his young bride's nn worthiness. I would 
Have stabb'd the wretch; but dar*d not f<» his 
power. 

QtM^Arma, His case is hard — 'twere best to ite^ 
him quickly. 
Come, rouse him. 

Guard. Now ibr pity do*t thyself; 

Fm only fit for common crueltieai 

QeMM^Arme. Why, man, he hatfi a eenrade in hbr 
death 
Would move thee more-^a delicate young boy, 
And lovely as a maiden. I look'd on 
The whilst he stood before our dread tribunal ; 
And when maturer Tictims groan'd and wept, 
Bte cheek seem'd pale with sorrow more then fbar ; 
Be heard his seMenee with a smile, and ash'd 
No mercy saving leave to empt his veins 
Iirthe same current with Bustache. He eomes ; 
I could not harm a thh)g so beautiful. 

Ouafd. Who hath denounced hfanf 

49en^Arme. None that I could hear ; 

I saw him pressing through the crowd to join 
A string of criminals who stood for sentence, 
And there, in spite of one who strove to hold him. 
With tears and prayers, he gain'd what seem'd his 
wish. 



Tat Amvb. 'AKiriraLur, (at a peatmt ftey.) 

GUAUI.T, GOAftOS, dio. 



Ann. (Hmthhrg to Eusftrcfte, bends over X^, and 
speaks in a suppressed tone,) 
TkemTri mine at last-Mior blood will now be wedded 
Id a sweet stream, sacred to faithful love * 

[Thedeath-idttoOs. 

Mks. (Springing v^.) Mathilda, Mathilde! are 
there so many here. 
And thou away T 

€fet. Be patient, good Eusfaehe ; 

Ifshe IbfgBftf lhe«, thou art still beloved 
As never man hath been. 

Bus, IkearAaeilot! 

I annot ibr Aa bwitikf of my Ifeatt ; 
He. said he was to marry her ! my wiie ! 
Qh% D^Bv? tvitofr «f fotr dr wll gitaf 

y#1p hl m 



The blessing of a dying man, and say 
That she is dead ? 

[He sinks oeerpowertd upon the h msn i^ A 

Ann. He hsih forgotten me. 

£i4S. Why do we slay ? on, on, sweet frienlB, t» 
death, 
For I am braver than the reeking Mars, 
And scent my own blood wiih a raven's kmgiagi 
Pale, faithful, and forsaken Annabelle, 
Was it Ibr this I blaneh'd thy bkxMDing oheek t 
Come hither one of you — I have a word 
Of special trust, (to Afina5eZ2e.) There is a gentle girl 
Who hath been iaithful to me since the day 
When first her eye look'd Jove and loveliness. 
Succeeding years bestow'd their tribute graces, 
And with each grace, it seem'd, increasiog fondaeai; 
Till radiant womanhood haih made her perfect 
Well then, I snatch 'd the prise, and with a soul 
Tumultuous in its passionate gratitude. 
Fell down and shudder'd my wild thanks to heavant 
Fool, fool and villain! She was tson — what more 
Could such an idiot wish for ? I forsook her, 
Ptvgotat once her tenderness and tears. 
And married with another, O, good youth. 
Teach me some dying message to this maid 
Of fitting sorrow and reviving love ; 
For I am bow'd with humbleness, and have 
No power to instruct thee. 

Ann, Shall I say 

Thou hast resumed thy faith V 

Eus. She will not trust thee 

Say, if thou canst, whate'er a dying man 
Can feel when those he cherish'd have proved false, 
Those he deserted true. 

Ann, Thy Annabelle 

Believes and is most bTest ! now we will go 
fn triumph to our bridal's crimson altar. 
And with commingling ipirits gaze upon 
Our nuptial moon in Paradise. 

Get. 'Tie true ; 

This faithful maid is come to die with thee. 

Eus. Hold, let mc breathe — my Annabelle! to 
dief 
To die with me 7 O, pity me, ye heavens ! 

Ann, It is in vain ; thou canst not leave me now. 
Yon grave tribunal, gentler than Eustache, 
Did hear my prayers, and framed a crime for me 
Which r conftsa'd, more gladly than rey bve 
When first you aak'd ii. (to OerauU) Take my 

latest thanks. 
At mom seek out the youthful Marguerite, 
And tell my story, with this fond addition: 
f left no dearer friend than her and thee. 
Thy hand, most dear Eustache. 

Eus. Ye vengeful poweit> 

Requite ray guilt less terribly ! 'TIS jost 
I suflfer, but is death too little f Must I 
Know the last eye that would have wept my ^11, 
Closes untimely with my own f The voic^— 
Tym only voiee that had eicosed thy wrongs^ 
And smoothed ny Hum, can uner no lament f 

Inflict a pang so detd#i9 '^^^ ^y ^^^8 



102 



THE GENTLBMAN's MAGAZINE. 



Anu. Thitu'li furgive me 

Aiy heari hetray*d, or I had died with thee 
(An^unilmewD partner. 

Eus. Mercy ! yet, no merry * 

^4fhai Mhiie brow, and those ineet raven braidi» 
M^hkvh have repived upon my heart au ofi — 
A aMMnent henee, and wherv will they repoaet 
Where, mhwe that delicate. devoii^J form 
Which the vile mob nhall aiand to gase upon 
jAod woader wbal the fealurea might have been ? 



Tu iha Ust lime that mortal lipa ahall looch 
them. 

[CUuping her vuiendy. 
Ann (The death beUloUing) Hark b that ■ound! 

it w our marriage peal! 
Bt*9. Sweet Aimatvelle ! 

Ann. Come, oome, the chotr hi wmitinf 

To 6tog 08 into Paradiae ! 

But O.Gnd! 

[Thejfge OMl htmd in kBtmitfoBowed by the retf. 



SCHNEIDENSTEIN: 

4}U, THE ENCHANTED S M A L L-C L O T H E B . 



** 8i frbala erit pamm lepida leiotote Bataram ewe.**— £ra«aN(#« 
If the atory be notpiecty, know it if a i^itfcAone. 



• T L. ▲. WlLMIft. 



*riis extended shadow of the distant mountain 
darkened the front of that magnificent castle which 
tiad. for ages, been the family ^eut of the barons of 
JJuggermeiiiSler. Or, to tell the late with lesa cir* 
^cunilticutiun, ii was almost sunset, when the lady 
Kutreen, the sole reprrsetiiaiive of this suvient family, 
mem taking her evening walk on the bfitllemenis of 
the chak«au. The ledy Kotreen was an orphan, only 
aiiieieen yeara old, and wiihoui e\en en uncle or 
^uanlian to keep her in Put>jection until she was ol a 
Bujiabie age to take care of herself. Of coarse, the 
'Ja«l> Kotreen aced very much as she pleosed Ah 
iaraa her eye cuuld renth. »he saw no laitiia but her 
•own; farm, village, ami forest— evtry ohjeci wiihin 
€fae scope of ht r vision (^longt-d lo the Hugserm^iii- 
^ler estate. Of coiime, ihe Uily Korreii Mat ri< h 
* As fur peisoiiHl appearance, tliH lady K ireen wuo 
•doubileKS as pretty ait y«>ung ladies oi GeriUHn <'Xira< - 
^on usually are. In sinture she v^as short ; her ton 
|>l**zii*n was blonde, and the blue eyes and light hiiT 
of her country became her ei reeding h. Her figure I 
like ibet of roost Qernian ladies, uas pjraniidicitl.^ 
a plan of architecture i^hicb (i hough many do »•>• 
4idniire it,) has »ome striking advanii'ges. The pyni 
md, we are told, is not easily overlhroMn hy eir'h 
4)ttafce»,or eny ihing eke; and. analogically speak iik. 
a prudent man should wish his wife to be formed on 
.that principle. 

The lady Koireen, placing one fair hand aliove her 
•«yes. gazed lung and ardently in the direction of ihi- 
foreat, from which a road conducted to the gate of the 
caatle. 



" Dorothy,'* aaid abe to one j>f her mftida wbo alaod 
at her elbow. *' Dorothy, do you not SM a rimqf 

dustr 

Dorothy looked fint and then anawered, •* At a 
very great distance, madam, meihinka I do." 

**lt ia he! — he cornea T ezcleimed the lady Kot- 
reen. ** Thank heaven ! nothing baa be&Uen my 
dear Schneidensiem, and be ia true to his promiesr" 

* Ah. madam,*' aaid Dorothy, yoo little know how 
the baron adores >on When last he came hither, be 
gave me a silver crown and a — " 

** A what r* said the young baroneas, in a tone of 
iropaiieiice. 

" A in'fs. madam; but I am aure he meant it lor 
yi»u. tor he bade me speak a good word in bis behalf 

his dear Koireena. as tie calls you. O, sweet lady! 

1 »m sure he will be one of the kindest of masters.'* 

» Rather toi» kind (lerbaps.'* said Kotreen; •*bat, 
.lla^! D •roihy, that dny we shall never heboid !" 

•• M. Grisel prctserve us!" cried Duroihy; '* then 
• he piMir gentleman's heart will infallibly be broken 
into forty pieces, as he ezf tresses it. Pray, my dear 
Infly, what ohjectiun can you have to the baron 
^:hneideiiHtein. the handsomeat man in the priocipa- 

.i.> r 

*' No oHjeriion in the world, Dorothy ; I freely oon- 
less to you that I love him— doat upon him to despe- 
r»iiioii— oui-^*' 

** B'li, alas! madam, bot^'* 

** But — oh, Doruihy — 1 most not^I cannot have 

m!" 

'« Saints and mariyn !*-inust nott-H»anott Art 



SCHNEIDBN8TBIN. 



103 



jou not the lady of Huggermeiiwier? Weep uoi, 
dear madam — you have no caiue to neep. Im ih>i 
your father dead, and are you noi your own nut- 
trc«r 

** Yee,'* aaid Kotreen, drying her eyen; " my faiiier 
if dead, and I am my own mtsireaa; — but, alas! 
Doioihyr 

" What, madam f — tell me in one word, what is the 
obstruction f" 

<* Enchantment!" 

" Heavens r cried Doraihy. and she would have 
iallen backwards, but for the remarkable ^uahiy 
which we just now referred to, as bemg a physical 
chaiacleristie of the German females. 

** Tea, Dorothy,'* resumed Koireen, *' I ooniinne a 
maid by enchantment; nothing else could — *' but 
hare her voice was interrupted by tears. 

** Tell ne all. madam { f>r goodness' sake, tell roe 
all," raaamed the damsel, as she recovered from the 
first cfleeis which this astouDding commuDicatKin 
pioduoad. 

" Not DOW, my dearest Dorothy«-not now ; behold 
Iha baron 8ehneideiistein is at the drawbridge. Hasten 
then, my good damsel, and have the bacon and eggs. 
the kriMii and the dough-nuts, placed on the table. 
And bo sure to provide a good pipe of tobacco for the 
haron to smoke afier supper." 

Dorothy repressed her rising curiosity, and obeyed 
the commandments of her mistress. The servants of 
the joong baroness ranged themselves in the court- 
yard to reoeive, with due honor, one whom they re- 
garded as their future master. The baron Schneiden- 
stein was some ten years older than the lady Kot- 
reen ; he was, to use the stereotyped phrase, above 
the middle height; his hair was black, his eyes gray, 
his limbs stent, his — but minute descriptions of a 
man's corporalities have always been onr aversion, 
and, to nay the truth, we think them scarcely de- 
cent. 

Lady Koireen received her lover with a smile as 

sweet a* thai of Miss ; the barun bowed lo the 

gniund ; the servants of the baroness bowed ba< k 
again, ttie maids curtsied, ihe du($8 wagged their 
tails, Hml S'-hiieid^nsiein was conducted by hin fair 
hiMiess B iito I he hall of her cantle. 

A aiitwDiiitial supper had been prepared ; for ihf- 
Gerraatis are fond of surwtaniial aiippers. notwiiti 
iiaiidiii^. in matters of literiilure and science, i^>ev 
can ff«a«t on air, va^mr, and smoke. We sh.ill lurbeHr 
from r»curdiiig ihe g<Mid things whieh were said^ hy 
Ibe hantn during the repant, and the reli«h wnh 
which I hone good things were received hy the fHir 
K'ltreen. Perhaps they rnighi not be received u-nii 
aiiQUch relish by our resders; different piople hnvr 
diff rent notions of wit. The tjcrronns are ver> 
liberal in construing alt that they do not clrarly on 
dsrKiarid as wit and wisdom; heni'e their enihubiut«iir 
idiairaiton of Goeihe and Kant, and some half a 
duzeii others of their couDirymen. 

Tne clock struck eleven amidst the fentivity. The 
baron hastily arose. ** I rntist ride," said he ; " I mun 
tear myself away (rom the delictus soiaety of Koi 
reetL" 



**Oh, not to-night — leave me not to-night," said iho 
iHdy. 

*' Ah.' said or sighed the baron, with some mean- 
ng ill hiN eyes. " may I really hope — " 

**Hope!'* eehoed Koireen; " alas!— without hope 
we are wretched indeed." From this rommon-placo 
remark, it is evident that the lady of Huggermeinster 
did not uiidarstauU the drift of the haron Schneiden- 
siein. 

" You shall not leave the castle to-night," aaid the 
lady; -the woods are iitfested with robbers, and there 
i« every prospect of a tempest. On pain of my dis- 
pleasure, I command you not to think of going onC 
t .-night." 

*• I shall obey you. my empress," said the baroiir 
who had drank a suffii-ient quaniiiy of wine to make 
him feel an entire devotion to the fair sex; *' I shall 
obey ; and now. will it please you order your servanls 
to conduct me to your apartment^-hiocup—io my 
apanment, I mean. Riding always gives me a coo- 
fusion and dininem about the head, whirh,at praaent 
makes a liiile — hiccup-— a httle rest necessary." 

Two maidens, bearing torches, lighted the lady 
Kotreen and the baron up a long flight of steps in 
the siNith-west angle of the north-west turret. The 
bdrouem paused at the doi»r of a chamber, aiMl point- 
ing to another door on the opposite side of the pas- 
sage. ** That is your room," said she to the baroifc 
sichneideMStt in. ** Mariiery, give the heron a torch* 
aiid^but stay ; have yoii — " and here she whispered 
something jn Margery's car. 

** Yes, madam, I have," answered Margery. 

''O, very well," said Ihe laiiy Koireen. •* Baron» 
good night; we have endeavored to mske your lodg- 
ings as convenient as possible, and I wink you good 
rtpine aiid pleavant dreams, with all my heart." 

Here the buron roguishly laid his baud on the 
linoh of the door through which Kotreen was about 
Ml enter her own apaniuent. The women all laughed 
heariily at what ih*-y considered an oicellent joke* 
tint Koireen. suddenly disa^ipeariug thi^ugh the door^ 
I'M-ked 11 after her; m> ihat the haron, for want of 
Moniething better to do. look the candle from Margery 
Hiid went imo his own chamber. 

He found the room fined up in a handaoroe but 
Huiiqiie style; the tn-d waa closely curtained with 
•-r^rn'on hHngings. which reached lo the floor, and 
■ oiicealed what the tiaron stood much in need of at 
ilmi niodieni. but wh>ch he at length found under the 
heditit'nd — namely, a h<Mt-jaok. The window iraroes 
;>roj<-4*it'd f'lr over into ihe room, Ihe cornices curiously 
fitrvcf) in the prevaniitg laHid of ihe naiion, with 
lieHih's hi'sdn. rroaa boi.es. and cofli.i&. A cliiw-fooied 
t'thlH ol ponderous maerials, and a chair to match it,. 
<>ioi»(l hy ihe hed side I he walls of the room were 
iMiineJed around, and here and there hung a picture* 
which Ihe haron did not stay to examine, as he httd 
very liiiln taaie in the fine arts, and his atieotion was 
now rivi ed on another object. Phis was a (Siir of 
->iiff 4-olored small-cloihes, hung, or rather apread, up 
tKHiiisi ihe wall, oppoaiie ihe chair on which the 
»Aron sat. They were handsomely cuostrucied of 
>«er skin, or some similar kind ol ieaiher» and wouH 



104 



THE OBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



have been a perfect maeter-pieoe in their way, bat for 
two large rente on that portion of the garment which 
is partially concealed when the wearer placet him- 
self in a recumbent or sitting posture. 

Schneidenstein approached the small-clothes and 
discovered a record made on one of the knees, in a 
smaU hand writing, which slaved that the article be- 
1 enged to the baron Lutwald Huggermeinster, (Kot- 
Teen's grandfather,) and that these rents in them had 
been made at the same time the owner received his 
death-hurt, by a fall from his boise, while he was 
homing. 

In order that we may give the reader a clear nn- 
derstanding of our story, it is neccMary to make 
known that this baion Lotwald wai eitremely taste- 
f ol in matters of drees, and was especially caraful to 
keep all hit garments in good repair. When thrown 
f rom his hoise, as above referred to, both his legs and 
one of his arms were broken, his skull was fractured, 
and four of the vertebra were dislocated. But the 
baron Lutwald observing, with much horror, that 
these, hia favorite small clothes, had been materially 
injured in the fall, quite forgot his own personal 
■uflerings, in the oonoero which he felt 'for this disas- 
ter to his apparel. Whether this is human nature or 
Bot, we do not know and do not care ; it is sufficient 
or us that what we relate is matter of fact, well-, 
known to hundreds of people now living, and can be 
•worn to, whenever it is found necessary, by plenty 
of credible witnesses. 

Baron Lutwald, on his death-bed, gave his son, 
Hans Karl, Kotreen's father, a sdTemn injunction to 
have these small-clothes carefully repaired, and hung 
up in his wardrobe, as a memorial of the owner. 
Whether the son did not admire this species of ceno 
t aph, or whether he was too busily engaged in spark- 
ing Kotreen's mother, whom ho married shorily after, 
is not clearly understood ; certain it is, however, that 
the parental admonition was disregarded, and the 
small-clothee remained unmended, and were shortly 
forgotten altogether. 

To this cause some intelligent persons ascribed the 
downfall of the house of Hugger raeinsier. It was now 
without male heirs, and the title and estates would 
probably pass into another family. 

It is an undoubted fact, (an assertion which passes 
or proof in all matters of this kind,) that any object 
which is, in any manner connected with our destiny, 
becomes, at first sight, deeply interesting to us. 
Schneidenstein gazed at tho small-clothes as be pulled 
off his own, kept his eyes intently bent on them while 
be drew off his boots, and not until he had extinguish- 
ed his candle did he cease to regard the ominous ani- 
ole. Even when the light was put out he endeavored 
to trace the outlines of the small-clothes; and while 
busied in this attempt, he fell asleepu For three 
hours the baron slept, or at least snored, which, we 
•oppose, amounts to about the same thing. Then he 
awoke, or ceased snoring, and to his utter amaiement, 
beheld a prodigy, for which we are unable to aocuont 
on any phikisophieal principles. The mysterious 
anall chMhea were sMroonded by a lominooa circlev 
\ that piofhMad by a magio bataiDi H^thia 



this halo, there appeared the %ure of an old man ia 
the dress of the preceding century, with a stem and 
commanding countenance. The apparition fixed its 
eyes on the baron, and repealed these verses with a 
strong and clear voice, and an attention to the stop*, 
which showed that some study had been given to the 
art of elocution : — 

" Schneidenstein ! — these breeches view ,* 
Win them and the lady too :— 
When a tailor shall be found 
Who can make these breeches sound, 
They are yours and she beside, 
Yours the breeches and the bride; — 
But, until that job is sped, 
Fair Kolreen cannot be wed !" 

" Is that all,** cried the amazed baron, starting fioin 
his couch, •* is that all that is necesMuy to divolve the 
enchantment and to win Kotieen 7— -my soul ia on i^ 
to engage in the work !'* 

The apparition vanished. Schneidenstein mappiHt 
a lucifer match and lit his candle * There was a 
smell of brimstone { but whether it was the ghoat or 
the match is none of our businesa The baron alwaya 
carried a needle and thread in his pocket, to provide 
Bgainst any emergency; which, by the way, ia a very 
excellent precaution, a? we know not what a day qt 
an hour may bring forth. The baron was as eeono- 
roical as inost of his countrymen are ; " Now," thought 
he, " if I can mend these breeches myself, I shall avoid 
having another item added to my tailor*s bill, which 
is already long enough in all conscience.'* 

The baron seated himself in the elbow chair, plaoed 
the small-clothes on his knees, took out his needle- 
case and commenced operations. As soon as the 
needle first touched the small-clothes, they started, 
quivered and flirted as though they had been *' a thing 
of life.'* The baron endeavored to hold them still, 
but in vain, they were not in the humor for being 
stitched ; and Schneidenstein, after an hour's inefifeo- 
ual labor, concluded that the task was reserved Qu 
other bands than his own. A number of demoniac 
ha. ha, ha*B and he, he, he's sounded around him. He 
rolled up the small-cloihes, returned to his bed, and 
slept without interruption until morning. 

When it was day, the baron arose, dressed and 
washed himself, combed his head, and ordered his 
horse. He knew the lady Kotreen did not arise till 
late in the morning, and he was too impatient to try 
his fate with the small-cIoihes, to wait for the appea^ 
aiice of his sweetheart. 

Having conveyed the talismanlc breeches into his 
portmanteau, and strapped it behind hia saddle, he 
kissed Kotreen, (that is, by her proxy Dorothy,) and 
wishing all a good morning, he rode in the direction 
or his own castle On his arrival at his head-quarters, 
the tailor of Schneidenstein village was immediately 
summoned. "Take these small-clothes," said tba 
haron, ** and mend them without delay.'* The tailor 
was much pleased and a little surprised at this com- 
mission, for he knew the baron was accuatomed to. do 

* Query f— Were lucifer matches inTantod at tet 
period t^Thnui^tfor. 



SCHNBIDBN8TBIN, 



105 



hif own '< botching ;" he took the small-clolbef. can led 
them to fan gtall, searched the pockets, lest happily 
nnethiog might hare been left there by oversight. 
bit, disappointed Id that, he turned ihem over, to ex- 
amine the extent of the damage they had sustained. 

"Och! ter lefil and tocior Faustus!" cri«d the 
tailor, as the first prick of the needle brought the 
small-cfethes to their old taniruras. "Mein frau. 
Petsy — Petsjr, I say, coom, ant holt ter legs of dese 
tarn britches, for dey kicks like der blilxen, and tefil 
a pit of a stitch can I dake." 

Betsy obeyed — but neither she nor her cross-legged 
knight could succeed in bringing the unruly garment 
to order ; it was rebellious to the last, and the wearied 
tailor, about twelve o'clock, relinquished it as incor- 
rigible. With tears in his eyes and the small-clothes 
in hlB hand, he returned to the baron. The latter, 
when he saw the tailor approach w ith such a rueful 
aspect, was scarcely less concerned than the tailor 
himself, and in no very good humor, he dismissed the 
artist with more curses than kreulzers. The small- 
clothes were then despatched, by a trusty messenger, 
to another tailor, ten miles distani, but they were re- 
tamed the next day, with a declaration that it was 
impossible to mend them. In this way, they were 
sent around to all the tailors within a circle of twenty 
miles* radius, but with no better success. 

At length, as the case seemed to be growing despe- 
rate, the ibUowiog advertisement appeared posted on 
all public places throughout that part of Germany: 

'*Qoe hundred rix-dollara reward will be paid to 
any tailor who is able to mend a certain pair of inex- 
yreasibles, now in the possession of baron Schneiden- 
steini" 

This placard, of course, brought many adventurous 
knights of the shears and thimble, to run a iilt at the 
seat of these terrible smallclothes ; but the latter en- 
joyed an immunity from conquest, equal, at least, to 
that of Alexander the Great— they never lost a battle. 
Kow it happened that there was a young man 
named Heinrieh Reinwald, who was paying his ad- 
dresses to Miss Dorothy, lady Kotreen*s con6dential 
maid. This youth had served a regular apprentice- 
diip to the tailoring business, but for some reasons 
best known to himself, he bad left tho delicate opera 
tion of thsit craft to become gardener at the castle of 
Huggermeinster. This interesting couple, Heinrieh 
and Dorothy, would have been married two years 
helbre the date of onr story, but the lady Kotreen was 
sfiaid to sleep alone, and Dorothy was obliged to act 
in the capacity of bed fellow, until the lady Koireen 
could be better provided. Therefore, it was not ex- 
psdient that Dorothy should be married, until the ba- 
louss could dispense with her nightly attendance. 

it soon became rumored among the servants, (but, 
•0 what manner I could never possibly guess, since 
Iftdy Kotreen told it to no one but Dorothy, and 
<^Vged her particularly to tell no one else.) it soon 
became rumored, I say, that the marriage of the lady 
to Bchoeidenstein could never take place yntil this 
^nefaanted pair of small-clothes were made whole. 
AMOihp wished to have this matriage oonsummated 
^ fflone reaaoos than one, and she and Beiivich talked 



over the matter frequently between themselves. From 
arguing on the subject, they came to adopt a spedes 
uf logic which admits of a nine months demonstratioOr 
and Dorothy's reasons for wishing her nuptials to be 
speedily celebrated were at least nine times as strong 
as ever. 

While these matters were going forward, Sohneidea- 
stein was making the mo9t strenuous exertions to pM>- 
cure a man of ebiliiies sufficient to restore the pristine 
elegance of that unmentionable garment^ and Kotreen 
most devoutly wished her grandfather and his breechie 
to the devil, so as she might possess what occupied 
the most of her thoughts — a husband. 

At last, Schneidenstein and his lady-love deteimiiMd 
to steal a march on the ghost, and to get married ia 
spite of him and his breeches. All the arrangemenii 
wore speedily made. The bride arrayed herself in 
nuptial vestments, the baron procured a new suit of 
drsb cloih, with pearl buttons. The church of SC 
Grisel was filled with spectators, and the candidatn 
<or matrimony stood at the high altar. Mass was said 
the priest rubbed his eyes, turned over the leaves of 
his missal, and found the appropriate chapters. 

" Whereas," said his reverence, " I am about to join 
Wilhelm, baron of Schneidenstein, to Kotreen, baron- 
OBS of Huggermeinster, in holy wedlock " 

" You lie !'* cried a voice which sounded through 
every aisle and nook of the church. The priest drop- 
ped the book, the sexton made a diligent inquiry who 
dared to interfere wiih the holy ritual of marriage^ 
but the ofiender could not be discovered. 

The priest took up his book and continued, "there- 
fore, if any person know of any just cause or impedi- 
meni why these two should not be joined together as 
in one, let him now speak, or foreveT hold his peace*" 

" I forbid the marriage," said the same supernatural 
voice. 

" Come forward, then," taid the priest, " and make 
known your objections." 

A pause of several minutes ensued, and no one aa* 
swered the summons. The ceremony went forward : 

" Will you have this woman to be your wedded 
wife," &c. 

Schneidenstein had just opened his mouth to make 
the customary response, when he felt the applicatioa 
of a foot to his rear ; and he afterwards said that it 
was as solid a kick as ever it had been his good luck 
to experience. 

At this uncouth wedding ealutation, Schneidenstein 
drew his sword and turned hastily around, but the 
stern aspect of the spectral baron Lutwald instantly 
disarmed his resentment The visionary being pre- 
sented the tatal sraall-cloihes to the shrinking bride- 
groom, that would be, and repeated : — 

** Schneidenstein I-^these breeehea view ; 
Are they won by sotvice true ? 
Has the tailor yet been found 
Who can make them whole and souimI f 
While these rents are gaping wide, 
Tours can never be tho bride • r^Q I p 
Wicked nan, your tricks iorbeer, o 
All your vows are lost in air!*' 



106 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



Here the appariiion threw the small-clolhet in Schnei- 
deiibieiD's face, knocked the b ok out of the parboire 
liand, boitd Kutreen*a ears, and vanished. 

'*! see." said ihe priest, when he had somewhai 
lecovered from his astonishment, ** I see these nuptialM 
nay not proceed. The deceased baron LutwaldV 
jhost, which was here even now, mast be propiiiated 
before this nuble couple csn be united." 

All acquiescfd in the justice of this decision, and 
the disappointed lovers sorrowfully took ibeir ways lu 
their respective homes. Two days after, the baron 
ayain visiied the lady Koireen. and niept in the same 
apartment which he had formerly occupied. It wasatier 
joidnight when he retired, and whether it was owing 
to his gloomy reflections or the bed- bugs, I cannot tell, 
irat, for a long time, sleep forsook his pillow. Il<- 
4umbled and tossed about on the bed, or rather U 
tween Ike bed», whic;^ ia the way the Dutch usually 
•lepoie. Presently. I he great clock of the casile began 
40 strike, and the baron began to count — *' One, two, 
<hree, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven 
twelve, thirteen r 

** Thirteen !" ejaculated the baron and drew a long 
•breath ; *' yea, it was thirteen, by the mother of Moses. 
Ah !" continued the baron, " I have found io some 
of owr popular romances when the writers wish to 
introduce something extra wonderful, they generally 
begin by making a clock strike twelve. The idiots! 
any clock may strike twelve, and that on any ordinary 
occasion, but when a clock strikes thirteen, something 
atrange is about to happen for certain." 

The baron was right. He had scarcely done speak- 
ing, when a tornado swept over the castle, the walls 
of the sabstential edifice shook, and at least fiAy panes 
of window glass were bioken. The dogs howled and 
■o did the wind ; crash went the thunder and crash 
went the glass. Cries of distress and horrible groans 
were wafted on the breeie. Down came the rain, as 
if the water casks of the skies had all been slaved in. 
The lightnings biased and fined, as if Jupiter had 
taken a fancy to play the pyrotechnist, for the amuse- 
aient of madam Juno and the young onea. The lady 
Kotreen, Dorothy, Margery, and the rest of the female 
train, half frightened to death, leaped from their bedi 
and flew to the baron's apartment for safety. Foolish 
creatures! what could the baron do lor them at such 
an awful juncture f 

Peal after peal of thunder rolled over the casile— 
the women were all on their knees in the baron's 
chamber ; the baron had slipped out of bed and wa» 
andeavuring to comfort ihcm. But little could be done 
in that way, for all hands, including ihe baron himself, 
were excessively terrified. Wo forgot to mention thai 
the baron had slipped on his inexpressibles. 

Presently, notwiihutanding the noise of the rain, 
wind, and thunder, a heavy footstep was heard as- 
cending the staircase; it drew near, proceeding along 
the corridor, and soon a consequential knock wak 
beard at the door of the apartment. 

« Mercy on us.*~my grandfather!" exclaimed Kot 
reen. 

«• Come in," roared Sohneidenstein, with a desf erae 
«ft>tt, to keep up his courage. 



In walked the baron Lutwald's ghost, with its nsoal 
majestic pace and severe countenance. The women 
were loo much f'ighiened to faint, for fainting ia a 
piece of stage effect which requires a good deal of 
.■<f If possession in her who performs the feat All eyss 
were fixed on the vision, as it pronounced this obscure 
but oracular sentence:— 



** Srhneidenstein, and lady fair! 
Hear me now your fate declare ; — 
When a tailor shall be found 
Working onty on ihe ground. 
Who, atfianc'd to a maid, 
Mournn his marriage riles delsy'd. 
Yet enjoys in his distress 
Much that married life can bless ; 
Who a daughter did beget. 
And never w as a father yet ; — 
Such the tailor, who alone 
Can mend your sorrows and my own !*' 

Tlie spectre vanished, leaving them all overwhelm- 
ed with despair at the seeming difficulties which sur- 
rounded them. Where could such a tailor, made up 
of contradictions, be ftund? At length, a gleam of joy 
spread over the countenance of Dorothy. 

** O. madam !" cried she to her mistress, *' I have 
found it !— I know whom the spirit means. It is Hein- 
rich!" 

" Heinricb is a gardener and not a tailor,** said the 
baroness. 

" He is a tailor by trade," answered Dorothy; " be 
served his lime in Saxony. I had it from his OWB 
lips." 

" But is Heinrich aflianced to a maid t" demanded 
the baroneaa. 

** Yes, madam ; he is affianced to me, and I am yovr. 
maid." 

" But,*' said the baronesi, lowering her Toice, 
" there was something more — a daughter*-" 

Dorothy blushed, and Kotreen began to think that 
there was really some troth in the damsel's suggestions. 
Heinrich was immediately sent for; the fatal small- 
clothes were placed in his hands ; he took his sea^ in 
the usual position, on the table, and the company 
stood around in an agony of suspense. When Hein- 
rich took the first stiich, the storm instantly ceased, 
and music, as if produced by a thousand iEolian harps, 
broke upon their ears. The work proceeded without 
interruption. The small clothes were mended!!! — 
Louder and louder grew the strains of unearthly har- 
mony, until the finishing stitch was applied. Then 
all was silent. Koirecn clasped her hands in ecstasy, 
and Schneidenatein lit his pipe; — that grand regulator 
which brings all Dutchmen, whether io joy or sorrow, 
to the same apathetic medium. 

The sequel may be guessed. Schneidensfeln and 
his beloved were married the next day, and Heinrich 
and Do^ihy aoon after followed their example. Tba 
small clothes were hung up in the wardrobe, where 
ihey remain to this day. and the raanca of the baroa 
Lutwald Hoggermeinster were appeased. 



TO A WHITE ROBE. 



lOT 



THE DEATH OP THE AGED 



IT MIfS O. H. WATKAMAN. 



They hare gone, they have gone from us, the white 

hair'd of our hearih; 
The anceetora of weary years have pasa'd away from 

earth ; 
The aged hand that used to guide our totferiog Ktepa 

aright, 
The bland, kind face that smird on as, has vanished 

from our sight 

The trembling voice that weaker g^w, as our own 

gather'd strength;' 
The time dimm*d eye that knew not day, save only 

by its length ; 
The hearts thai had grown old in life before our own 

were form*d. 
And yet for us, with all the glow of early youth 

were warm*d. 

They have gone (rom among us{ their life had lost 

its dreams, 
And clouds of cold reality had settled on its stream ; 
Their eyea had seen the roses of many a summer 

fall, 
And mark*d the breath of winter blast, the brightest 

coronal 

And they had seen the sun grow dim, tho* in its 

pride and might. 
And they had found the world of day to them a 

world of night; 



The shadowings of many years had gather'd ia • 

cloud. 
And wrapt the time worn, weary mind as in a.msi- 

night shroud. 

And while the earth to other eyes without was hnght 

and gay, 
They saw within the lamp was dim, that IiC t&» 

house of clay ; 
They have gone from among us, and eiu hearfs ii» 

more shall greet 
The kind old man that used to fill the fireside's vaemft 

seat. 

And she, the long loved matron, whose thUi kKskff^oT 

snowy white 
Once floated o*er a sunny brow in ringlets darit end 

bright, 
In vain our eyes shall wander, to see eaeb mlr^yS 

head. 
While memory whispers to onr hearts those aged eoov 

are dead. 

They have gone, they have gone from os, the- wUl» 

hair'd of uur hearth, 
And those we loved to look upon are lying m tfc* 

earth ; 
They have left us but dark shadows, whicb tmy net 

pass away, 
Until our forms shall moulder where we laM 

senseless clay. 



TO A WHITE ROSE 



BY TH0HA8 DUNN ENGLISH, BLOCKLKY, PKNN. 



Thou pale white rose ! emblem of her I loved. 

Who now reposes 'neath the damp green sod. 
Whose sinless spirit from the earth hath roved. 

To dwell within the mansions of its God, 
I gaxe on thee in sadness — whilst fast stealing 

Across my heart, what I m*y not repress. 
Forebodings darkly come— to me revealing 

No siiothing thought of future happiness. 
Like unto thee, thou rose ! my own Louise, 

Blooming and fair, seemed for a little time ; 
With looks that showed a mind of purest ease. 



A soul untainted with tho thought of crime. 
But withered, white rose, as thou soon shall be^ 

Became ray dearest.— Sad disease invaded 
All hopes of bli«9. and gavo m agony. 

As a return Ctr that his blight had faded. 
I ne'er will loose thee, flower, but keep thee hercw- 

Close to my heart; and when its pulses beat^ 
I'll think of her, who died, not ag'd and sere,. 

But filled with beauty, j ly, and graces sweet- 
Heaven saw her virtue, smiled upon her birth. 
And raised her soul to heaven, that soul too pure for 
earth. 



108 



THE QBITTLBIIAN'b MAOAZINE. 



THE INDIAN MAID 



TBANSLATKD FROM THE VRBITOH.— >BT HBI. RUSSELL SMITH. 



CHAPTER I. 

' Thk Englith bietorians have always regarded 
queen Elizabeth with evident partiality. They pride 
theBuelvQB oa much in her reigo aa the French do in 
Uiat of Louis XIV. All the faults and feelings of the 
great queen disappear in the splendor of the halo 
which still surrounds her throne. Pedantic and 
coquettish-— despotic even to tyranny — cruel and 
djaembling — Elizabeth is seated there, like the pure 
and ehaste divinity of the church of warriors, states- 
men, and poets. At her feet are respectfully placed 
the attributes of all the glorious contemporaries of 
her age ,- the lyres of Spenser end of Shakspeare — the 
hand of justice of the chancellor Bacon— the flag of 
Sir Fmncis Drake, and the sword of Sir Philip Sid- 
ney, who, to remain her subject, refused the crown 
of Poland. 

Considering all things, this was an epoch of poetry 
and enthusiasm. The influence of her reign con- 
tinued a long time after her deaih. Since the op- 
pression of Henry VH. and the bloody controversies 
of Edward and of Mary, England reposed for (he 
first time under the shade of an undisputed poliiical 
authority, and of a religious supremacy lawfully 
acknowledged; two powers that mutually assisted 
aod protected each other. All classes submitted with 
the same chivalric re&pcct to tho virgin queen, so 
that this allegorical ago was represented by the (reple 
personification of law, religion, end national grandeur- 
Imagination, also, conspired to render the despotism 
of this woman more brilliant, at a time when imagi- 
nation was, in England, the ruling faculty of the un- 
derstanding. The English of the present day, with 
the gallantry of th^ir ancestors, place in the reign of 
the imperious daughter of Henry VIII. the most bril- 
liant dates of their annals — their religiouj reform — 
their roaster-piece of dramatic litcratarc— their first 
naval victories, and their discoveries in the New World. 

This reign was rendered still more illustrious by 
its connection with the one that followed. In vain 
James I. inherited the same statesmen and captains 
that had governed or foiiglit in the preceding reign ; 
in vain was he a legislator, theologian, and, in his life 
time, surnamcd the Solomon of the West ; in vain was 
he the patron of Ben Jonson ; in vain, did ho write 
poetry and tolerably good prose ; in vain did he found 
colonies in the New World ; every thing that flouribh- 
ed in England during the first twenty-five years of 
the sixteenth century, but served to increase the 
glory of Elizabeth's reign. 

James experienced the disadvantages arising from 
a comauin appearance, plain manners, and a vulgarity 



which could be perceived even in his cultivated 
mind. The court is a theatre in which the peopleb 
for the illusion of the scene, desire that the principal 
actor, at least, should sustain the appearance and 
dignity of his part. James had, however, the good 
fortune to find in hia wife a much better repieioBfa* 
tive of royalty than himself; Anne of Denmark was 
remarkable for her beauty and wit She aometimas 
took a share in the government, but she ruled by 
kindness rather than authority. Permitting the king 
to attend to his studies and the pleasures of the chaso 
at Thebalds, she introduced into her court at Green- 
wich, folly and diversion, and, thereby, drew around 
her the most gallant courtiers and all the beauties of 
England. Certain manuscripts, leA by her contem- 
poraries, which have since been published, treat with 
severity some acts of levity, committed by the queen 
and her ladies of honor: we read in them, "These 
ladies indulged in intoxication, superstition, and love." 
There is, however, much exaggeration in this postfan* 
mous slander. We find no proof that the seene of 
intoxication described by Sir J. Harrington, the wer- 
thy godson of Elizabeth, occurred frequently. As to 
superstition, the belief in withcraf^, entertained by 
Anne of Denmark and her ladies of honor, was ex- 
cusable, since the king had written a large volume 
to prove the existence of sorcerers, and the gieat 
Bacon doubted the miracles of Alchymy. As to 
leve, the queen certainly did not reprove, widi the 
jealous severity of Elizabeth, those of her ladies who 
forgot their duty; but that she favored licentious 
manners, would be a slanderous invention I could not 
defend with the same zeal nor confidence the honor 
of all the duchesses and countesses that ornamented 
the f^tes at Greenwich. 

The sixteenth of June, 1616, there was a private 
party in the apartments of the queen. Anne was 
discoursing familiarly with her ladies of honor, who, 
in turns, endeavored, by their agreeable conversation 
and the recital of some new anecdote, to please her 
majesty. Each one desired to be most lively ; and 
never did lady Douglas, lady Cecil, lady Lennox, and 
lady Clifford appear so happy. It is true that the 
favorite of the moment, lady Georgina Arundel alone 
seemed, from time to time, to forget herself, and to be 
unusually melancholy ; the others were not long in 
remarking it, and the queen said, in a low voice, to 
lady Cliflbrd, " Pity poor Georgina ; I know what dis- 
tresses her — she is another Ariadne, who could net 
succeqd in keeping Thesans near her.*' Lady Cliflbrd 
would have delighted in discovering the name of this 
perfidious lover ; for it was a secret which had not 
yet reached her ears. At this moment, however« a 



TITB INDIAN MAID. 



109 



and, aiter having aaluted the queen. 
Hid tlMi capCBin Smith entreated her majesty to grant 
him an interview. ** Captain Smith !'* said Anne o( 
Dtomark ; ** he haa already taken leave of the king, 
and 1 thought he waa in the bay, or, at leaat, on the 
raad 10 Plymouth. Let him come in, however; we 
Boat not refoee any thing to the bravest admiral ol 
oar navy. In apeaking thua, ihe qnecn cast a search 
ng glance on the circle around her, and, she, alone, 
-perceived thai one of her ladies had changed color, 
and that all were m^re or less agitated. 

"Captain Smith but rarely visita the court ol 
Greenwich," said lady de Vere. 

"If her mojesly would not be displeased," replied 
lady Clifibrd, ** we would entreat him to relate to us 
me of hia voyagea.'' 

** 1 ahould prefer," continued lady de Vere, ** thai 
her mi\]eaty would demand one of hia voyages in 
Transylvania." 

«' And I," aaid lady Douglas, " his captivity among 
lbeTark«,from which he was delivered by a Sultana." 
«*! BUiat oonfeaa," aaid lady Oxford, "that 1 era 
anxious to hear his adveniurea in France, where 
Madame Chanoye taught him so soon to forget the 
had Ireatmeni he had received from the corsaiia who 
omiducted him to Rucheile." 

** In hia nuinenHia adventuree among the savages 

and pagana in Europe, aa well as in America or 

'TirUkry," aaid lady Clifiard, "it appears that the 

captain haa alwaya had the good fortune to find some 

ptoieeiiag fairy." 

« In Ane, they pretend that the captain," added 
lady Lonuoi, " haa the power of pleasing the ladies. 
What do 3fon think, lady Arundel^-you, who are 
aeqnainied with him V* 

** I would have him reveal to ua hia secret," said 
the queen, who thus evaded the reply that lady 
Amndel won|d necesaarily have been obliged to 
Bake; " but, silence, ladies; here he cornea." 
The captain waa introduced. 
Every eye waa filed on him ; but if he perceived 
te curiosity that he excited, he did not show tht* 
lesit embarraaaoMnl ; not that he oould be accused 
of a fooliah presumption { with him it wee only 
die eflect of a noble simplicity. He waa appa- 
Ruily about thirty-five or six years of age; .al- 
l^gh so young, be had a life of adventures to 
^le; his (ace, although sunburnt, was handsome; 
he was above the middle size, slightly bent, and 
indiocd a littla to the right in walking, in eon- 
Mqaeece of a wound ; in other respocia he was 
well made, grave, and dignified. As a seaman, he 
hid no rival in England, except Drake end Walter 
^il«*gh; but his adventures on the continent werf 
DM less celebrated than his maritime caropaignsi, 
^ving combated the Turks anid Tartars before mea- 
*ring his strength with the Spaniah corsairs. Since 
Ibe disgiaee of Raleigh, England relied on him for 
«a coBiinouioe Qf ^g disooveriea and conquests in 
Ansrica. 

** We thonght yoa were already on board your vea- 
"i^it^iud'her fB^ysty t «' bat I an not lesa delighted 
^Ne^yooi Whaiia.yoiirbaniiMi Willi i»f— lei me 
9 I 



warn you beforehand, that thcae ladiee Ykare, iQ Jheir 
turn, a fkvor to ask of you." 

" I have ever been anxious," said the captain, " fO 
prove the activity of my zeal for the execution- of Iha 
commands of my aovereigti ; but I trust that his aer- 
vice and the glory of England will not suffer, if I beg 
of your majeaiy to intercede with your royal huabaad 
ior my longer stay in London. In deferring my depar- 
ture, I wish to repay a personal debt, and particular!/ 
desire to preposaess in the king's favor, a womaiu 
who has not only aaved my life, but haa also shown 
such devotion to the inierests of his majeaty'i sub- 
jecta in America, that it would add much to his 
glory and that of Great Britain, to receive her with 
the honor due to her rank as well as her servicee." 

** your request relates, then, to a woman f " aaid the 
queen. 

" Vea, madam, to a king's daughter, who haa croaMd 
the ocean to judge for herself of the truth of all the 
has heard of English power and generoaity. I solicit 
for this Indian princess a reception worthy of her and 
of Great Britain. Ii is the young and beautiful Poca- 
hontas, daughlor of the king Powhatan, who, with 
one of her father's connsellors, haa arrived at Ply- 
mouth, and probably is, at this moment, in Brentfind. 
In the abaenceof your royal husband, 1 have reoonno 
lo your m^jesiy for ordera respecting the reception of 
the noble stranger." 

*• Your requeat," said the queen, ** ia that of a ialth- 
ful admiral. I have already heard of this beautifttl 
savagflk The necessary ordera ahall be deapalchid 
to-morrow, and nothing wanting to acknowledge the 
servioee rendered to our sobjecta." 

" i have taken the liberty," continued the captain, 
handing ber majesiy a roll of paper, " to write, in the 
form of a memorial, an account of what the dangbtec 
of Powhatan haa done for ua, that your miueaty may 
fully understand her claima." 

" We will read th'ia narrative with intereat," replied 
the queen, •* for we know that captain Smith handles 
the sword and pen with equal facility. Since t)ie aoh* 
ject of this measorial is connected with ona of tha 
most important incidents of hia eventful lifo, hern is n 
favorable opportunity of relating it to us. Behold»onp- 
tain, an aodience ready to listen to yon, for, withoot 
knowing what buaineaa brought you here, theae ladies 
entreated me to aet this price upon the favor that 
would be granted you." 

" It is rather a long recital, ^ndam," aaid the cap- 
tain. 
' " No matter," replied Anne, "you muat not refuse 
so trijling a request." 

The captain aeated himself near her roajeaty. As 
he was beginning his reciml, lady Eflingham, the 
most learned of the queen's ladies, and, who had had 
the honor of ounversing with queen Elisibeih, whis- 
pered to lady Arundel that the preeent acene reminded 
her of that pasaage in the Eiieid in which Eneaa re- 
lates his adventures to the queen of Carthage. Lsdy 
Arundel only replied lo ihia clasaical remark with a 
smile, reeerving all her attention for the narreiivei of 

iha captain, whO' began in. the i 

Digitized I: 
♦ ♦ • 



^ed*?y'^^Sgre 



110 



THE GENTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



** We had several timet experienced how difficult it 
wai to maintain a lasting peace with the Indians, who 
were daily reeovering from the terror formerly in 
spired by oar arm»— bnt, happily for us, an English 
city at length rose on the peninsula of the Chesapeake, 
and oar colonists could henceforth find within its ram- 
parts an asylum secure from the attacks of the ene- 
my. I soon found* however, that much skill was ne- 
^cessary to prevent the return of thote internal dissen- 
sions, which had already proved more fatal to us than 
the tomahawk and arrow of the natives. But, until we 
received reinforcement from England, we could not 
liope, considering the smallness of our number, to ex. 
tend our limits beyond the James river — for we have 
also given to the river which flows near Jamealown, 
the name of our gracious sovereign. In the mean- 
time, our fortifications being completed, in order to 
occupy these men, whose impatience incessantly urged 
them to some new conquest or discovery, I sent every 
day a difiTerent detachment from the garrison* some- 
times in one direction, sometimes in another, but al- 
ways with the express charge to keep in a body, and 
never to venture too far. I was, unfortunately, the 
first to deviate from this rule. One day, in exploring a 
river till then unknown, and l^eing accompanied by 
two soldiers only, a body of Indians fell suddenly upon 
VM, removing at once all hope of retreat. Their yells 
of war soon convinced us of the fate we were to ex- 
pect We did not wait to be attacked, but, after le- 
Telling more than ten of these savages, my compan- 
ions fell, and I remained captive; the conquerors, 
oveijoyed that not a drop of my blood had been spill 
in the combat, destined me to a slower and more cruel 
death. They immediately tied me to a tree, and 
seemed, by their fierce looks, to ei^oy already the 
spectacle of my dying agonies; but, as they were 
. preparing to strip me, I drew, as if by inspiration, my 
mariner's compass from my pocket. This instrunient. 
which the Indians were entirely unacquainted with, 
attracted at once their attention. The continual mo- 
tion of the magnetic needle, the reason of which they 
could not understand.excited their utmost astonishment. 
They thought, without doubt, that I was a magician ; 
and, after some consultation, decided that I should be 
conducted to their sovereign. I owed, therefore, the 
suspension of my death to this faithful guide, which 
has never yet deceived the mariner. 

''These savages dragged me in triumph to Pawhman- 
lie, their capital tov|p ; but, before arriving there, we 
passed through several villages inhabited by the sub- 
jects of Powhatan, who, in every instance, treated me 
with kindness. They served me abundantly at tlieir 
hour of repast^but I noticed, as a bad omen, that they 
never allowed me to eat with them, for fear of con- 
tracting some lie of affection with me. 

" Powhatan, who reigned then, and is still reigning 
over these people, keeps under arms more than three 
thousand warriors. He lives in the midst of savage 
pomp and grandeur. Two hundred soldiers form his 
body guard; at the four angles of his palace are 
placed, night and day, four sentinels, within arrow- 
shot of each other ; every half hour, the captain on 
duty jnokes a peculiar poise, passing rapidly one of his 



fingers over bis lips, to which each sentinel is obliged 
10 reply. Such is the military discipline in the palace 
of Powhatan. 

" Pawhmanrie, his capital city, consists of a hundred 
huts, made of mats, with low roofs, resembling the 
cottages of Ireland and Scotland. At my approach, 
all the inhabitants came out of their dwellings, men, 
women, and children, and began to dance in a ring 
with the warriors, assuming a thousand grotesque ges- 
tures. These Indians paint themselves in difikrent 
modes; and they wear on their head, by way of orna- 
ment, a bird made of straw, with the wings attached 
to their ears, from which hang a while shell or a biass 
plate. 

" I was introduced into the assembly room of Pow- 
hatan, a room one hundred and eighty feet wide. The 
prince was silling before the fire, clothed in raccoon 
hkin. At his Tight and left hand were two young girls 
from fifteen to sixteen years of age. Several other In- 
dian women, who were standing against the wall, 
passed, from time to time, through the ranks of guards, 
their heads surmounted with feathers, and their necks 
ornamented with long chains of shells. 

"A general cry arose when I entered; an Indian 
woman, of the royal bloodi brought me water to wash 
my hands, and another a tuft of feathers to dry thesL 
After this ceremony, they conducted me to a hut, in 
which I was to be guarded during the night I then 
learned that the juggler's who had been ooosulied, 
put ofifmy trial till the next day, when they were to 
ascertain whether I was a magician like themselves, 
and if my death would be unfavorable to the nation. 

" The ceremony commenced at day-break by making 
a large fire in the cabin in which I had passed the 
night, and spreading out two mats, on one of which I 
was ordered to sit All my guards then went out, 
and a juggler of gigantic stature entered the hut His 
body was painted black ; his head-dress was composed 
of the skins of serpents and weasels, whose tails, tied ' 
together, formed a sort of hoop; this singular orna- 
ment was completed by a crown of feathers. He held 
in his hand a small bell. After distorting his body 
in various ways, he began his invocations in a stento- 
rian voice, tracing, at the same time, a circle of flour 
around the fire. When he had finished, three of his 
comrades, tattooed and ornamented like himself, came 
skipping in, followed by three others, equally hideous. 
To my great annoyance, they all sat down opposite 
me, and Btruck up a song, accompanied by their bells. 
This disagreeable mu&ic at lengih ceased, and the 
chief juggler put five grains of corn on the ground ; 
he stretched out his arms and hands with such vio- 
lence 08 to cause the perspiration to gush from his 
budy, and his veins to become excessively swollen ; 
putting three more grains of corn on the ground, at 
some distance from the fivo, he made an oration, and 
repeated the same exercise till there were three cir- 
cles of corn around the fire. In the meantime, his 
associates, renewing their horrible contortions, took a 
bunch of sticks, and, in repeating the stanza of each 
oration, put one of them between every circle of com. 
They neither ate nor drank till night, when a copious 
repast was brought them, to which dtey did honor, and 



THE INDIAN MAID. 



Ill 



I thanked heaven for not being excluded rrom this 
lift act of their exoreitm." 

*' In truth/' Mid ihe queen, interrupting the captain, 
*'I wiah Ben Jonaon was here ; he waa complaining 
yeiterday of having no more ideas. I should like to 
haTe him introduce this scene into one of his mas 
querades, in the form of a diversion of the Indians." 

'*! confess/' continued capiaia Smith, "that thLi 
diveraion. as your majesty calls it, appeared to me ra- 
ther long; and, to increase my fatigue, the jugglers 
kept it up> three days in succession. I understood. 
fiom a slight knowledge of their language, that the 
circle of flour signified America ; the circles of corn, 
the ocean; and the sticks, my own country. The re- 
iult of their invocations was that no witchcraft could 
protect my life, and the council of the king having 
Miambled, it was resolved that I should be put to 
death. The sachem Opcchacanou, who arrived at 
Pawhmanrie the day before, and had recognized in 
me the chief of the English, strengthened this resolu- 
tion. 

" I should have conjectured my fate had it not been 
anxionnced to me, from the kind and compassionate 
words of all those (the women especially) who, till 
the day of execution, came to gize un me* I receiv- 
ed from them many proofs of sympathy, such as froir, 
floweis, and honey, which, had I boon in the east, 1 
might have taken for emblems of a still more tender 
aenliment ; but I did not imagine, when the day of 
execution arrived, that I had been an object of the 
utmoet concern. ' They have caressed me/ thou ght 
I, ' like a lion in his cage ; and free, I would fill them 
with tenor/ I prepared myself, therefore, to die 
bravely. The fatal moment having arrived, my guards 
conducted me, in presence of Powhatan, to the public 
place, in the midst of which was a large stone where- 
on I was to be forced to place my head, and at som e 
distance stood two savages, armed with clubs, who 
were to split my skull. The guards closed around 
me. Having extinguished wiihin roe the regret !ha< 
I was unable to die in battle, I bade a mental farewell 
to my mother, my mistress, my vessel and my connt^', 
and then occupied myself with the world to come. 
My head was placed upon the fatal stone — the clubs 
were lifted over me — I had closed my eyes — when, 
after a piercing cry, which appeared to be the signal 
of my death, I felt an arm encircle roe, and, on open- 
ing my eye lids, perceived, close bcs»i.Ie me, a face 
which, for an instant, I believed to be that of my 
guardian angel, come to conduct roe into the next life. 
It was a young girl, faiier thin the Indians generally 
are, with hair that fell lou&ely on her shoulders, and 
of a beauty that was not impaired" by the usual orna- 
ments of her people. I recogiii/ed in her the daugh- 
ter of king Powhatan, Focjhontas, \v..o had scarcely 
reached her fourieenih year. G)d, who was watch- 
ing over me, had, without doubt, excited in her so ar. 
dent a compassion for the captive, that, having in vain 
entreated her father to spare me, she had come to 
throw herself between the executioner and myself, to 
ahield my body with her's, aiul to ex^iose her head to 
the blow that was intended for mine. 

" What had been refused her prayers, could not be 



denied to her courage. Nantaquous, brother of Po- 
cahontas, as beautiful and generous as his sister, fluBg 
himself at the feet of Powhatan, who, ! should have 
said, in consenting to my death, had yielded to the 
cruel and perfidious representations of the sachem 
Opechacanou ; a part of the people declared them- 
selves in favor of Pocahontas, and I was saved. The 
executioners retired — the king ordered my fetters to 
be broken. ' Thoa art free/ said he ; ' as yet, thoa 
hast only been our captive, will thou now becotne our 
guest ? We have treated thee as an enemy ; give ua 
time to entertain thee as a friend.' From this moment 
I was the guest of Powhatan. I remained some dayi 
longer in his capital, and it was not till after having 
sworn a treaty of alliance between him and the Eng- 
lish, that I set forth on my return to Jamestown. la 
taking leave of Pocahontas, she said to me — ^ What- 
ever circumstances may transpire, remember that the 
Englibh have in me a faithful friend.' 

* Unfortunately, we soon had need of her protec- 
tion ; for, on my arrival at Jamestown, I found that 
this colony, a short lime before so flourishing, had now 
become a hospital, in which hunger and disease were 
struggling for the few remaining inhabitants. We 
must all have perished, had not Pocahontas obtained 
from her father provision enough to serve us until we 
should receive a fresh supply from England. She 
came in person to see that her orders were fulfilled, 
and dressed, with her own hand, the wounds of a 
soldier who had been pierced by an Indian's arrow. 
She acquainted ua with the virtues of many plants, 
among which was the root that cures the bite of the 
rattlesnake. I do not know whether it was her father 
who empk)yed through policy, the will of heaven that 
made her an instrument of protection to us, or her 
wonderful attachment for our nation { but as soon aa 
the least danger threatened us, she was always near 
to caution or protect. One night, not knowing that 
some of our men had given Powhatan a just cause of 
rcientraont, I was bivouacking with only eighteen 
Englishmen, in the skirts of a forest. We fell asleep, 
without any other shelter than that of the treea. I 
was suddenly roused by a gentle pressure on the arm» 
and on raising my head, perceived, by the light of the 
moon, a figure bending over me. It was Pocahontas. 
• When thou slecpcst/ said she, * place better thy sen- 
tinels; it is not on the cast, bui on the west that they 
should have an cyo. In two hours a body of three 
hundred I udians are CLmiiig '.q surround and massacre 
you. Opccliacanou is at their head.' To give mo 
this inlellijjcnce, Pocahontas had braved alone the 
dangers of the nighr, and the depths of Iho forest. — 
We arrived at Jamc&town before daybreak, and the 
vengeance of Opcchacanou was once more averted. 

" Nor was this the la^t lime that she rendered us 
her assistance; fi)r, notwithstanding my precautions 
and the z-al of Poc ih )nias, the peace was frequently 
troubled, sometimes by the restless suspicion of the 
Indian.", and sonietimes by tho imprudent attacks of 
ihe colwnists on their people. 

" There are certain plants in Virginia, the' fruit of 
which have a peculiar property. A number of our 
soldiers, who had just repulsed a body of Indiana, ate 



112 



THB GENTLBMAN'8 MAOAZINB. 



tke applM of one of thete planti,and were immediaie- 
ly Miied with a kiml ofmadneM. Like ihe compan 
ions of Ulyssei*, when they had drank of the cup oi 
Circe, ftirgetting ihat ihey were men. some flung iheni> 
aelvea with violence on the ground, or climbed lo the 
tops of irees-T-some laughed and capered ahoul, whilai 
Oihera aank into a slate of lethargy. They no longer 
thought of home nor chief But, during six days wan- 
dering in the foreais, and the poison having subsided. 
they returned to Jametiiown, their banner aa well as 
the trophies of their laie victory being lost. Fortu- 
nately the zeal of Pocahontas was not leps occupied 
viih our honor than our safely. At the moment thai 
these soldiers were to be punished for their desertion, 
she brought back their colors from the woods. 

** When the explosion of a barrel of gunpowder had 
nearly deprived me of life, it was Pocahontaa thai 
watched beside my sick bed, and, by her songs and 
conversation, shortened the most painful momenta ol 
my illness; and since I have leA America, from 
which I did not expect to be so long absent, she has 
■till continue*] to protect the colony. * Yourcoropaii- 
ioOB,* said ftho, on parting with me, 'are my brothers.' 
She prefers this adopte«l family to her own nation ; is 
always ready to pardon iheir faults, and has frequently 
■erved aa a ransom for them. Yes. roost gracious 
queen, for three years, it is she that has been the 
means of preserving Virginia ; and her visit to Eng* 
land is not prompted by curiosity, but from a desire of 
baoomtng more intimately acquainted with the man- 
ner* of our people. 

'*As yet I have never asked a favor, neither of 
the king nor any private individual; but the extraor- 
dinary seal and services of this princess, her rank, vir- 
tue, and simpliciiy, make roe bold to entreat your ma- 
jesty to receive and enieriain her with the respect 
thai she yery justly deserves." 

Captain Smith pronounced these words in an ear 
neat tone, and the queen, moved by his manner, said 
in return, " Captain Smith, I declare with pleasure 
tbal of all the services rendered ua by Pocahontas 
the greatest, in my opinion, is that of having merited 
the gratitude of ao faithful and valiant a subject of the 
king. Therefore, to express my regard for her, I will 
appoint yon to go to Brentford to receive her on her 
arrival, and bring her to our court Yes, captajn, my 
eoach shall be at your service to-morrow, and, in wait- 
ing your return, we will prepare for the daughter of 
]\>whatan. the deliverer of captain Smith, a reception 
which will prove lo her that the Engliph are neither 
nngratefiil nor a forgetful nation.*' 

In speaking thus, Anne extended hbr hand towards 
the captain, who, kneeling, pressed it to his lips; and 
laluting the ladies of honor, took leave of her ma* 
jesfy. 

" In troth," said lady Clifford, " I could acarcely re 
irain from tears in listening to this recital ; I am sorry 
that the captain withdrew ao hastily; I should have 
questioned him about this savage princeaa, for il ap- 
pears to me that he has not related all." 

** To have aaifsfled your curiosiiy, ladiee,*' aaid the 

queen, ** our brave admiral would have been obliged I 

•~ — — • *-" ""~t importanteecfeti. Bnt let na ooeapy | 



ourselvee with the promise made ooneMning the lu- 
ll ian princeas. I hope you will all aamt m» in pay- 
ing her our^debt of gmtitude as weU as lhat of die 
«'aptain." 

*' Without doubt," aaid lady Cjiflbrd ; » I wish to 
accon«pany her lo London, and enjoy her surpnae on 
lirst beholding the public baildinga— >to the ball, the 
theatre, every where." *" 

** How much I ahould like to be preaenl at her in- 
troduction to the courl," aaid lady Douglaa, amilioff. 

" I am very certain," replied her majeety, ** that 
•*he will be less embarrassed than certain Sooldi la- 
dies, the first lime they made their appearance at 
Greenwich or Whitehall." 

Lady Douglas, as a true Scotch woman, wotiM have 
replied to this sarcaam againit her country women, but, 
at a sign made by the queen, they ondeiatood that the 
«oii6e waa not to be prolonged— and all the ladiea re- 
tired except lady Georgina Arundel, who, at a look 
Irom her majeaty, remained with her. 

*• WeU ! my dear Georgina," said Anne of Denmailc. 
" why this melancholy countenance f You see tha^ 
captain Smith, ao anxioua to return to Virginia a ftw 
ilays ago, has oflered a new pretext for delaying hi* 
departure. 

**Ah!" exclaimed lady Arundel, '< were yoor ma- 
jesty to apeak seriously, you would say that my euapi- 
ciona do not arise from a foolish jealousy, and that it 
was not glory alone that urged captain Smith to re* 
turn to the New World." 

** What, Georgina ! do you think that the captain ii 
io love with the Indian princeas, and that ahe lovea 
him ? Do not be unjust, but wait at leaat till yon aee 
this pretended rival." 

'*i will wait," replied lady Arundel, '* since you 
majesty desires it ; but you will pardon me ibr endaar 
vuring to know the cause of ao tender a devotion on 
the one hand, and of so ardent a gratitude on the 
other." 

" We may discover it quickly, from a girl bo aitlem 
and so young," said the queen. 

" Whet wuuld I not give to be an invisible ipecta- 
tor of the first interview between them ?** 

*' You, doubtless, are jealous, my dear Georgina, but 
( hope you will be the first one to laugh at this alarm 
so haaiily conceived. The captain, I am euro, will 
confide hia princeaa to your care«. Farewell, ray deal 
Georgina, and remember, before eztinguiahing you 
lamp to-night, the words of Othello concerning the 
green eyed monster;" and, with these wordi the 
queen diamifiaed her favorite from her preaence. 



to reveal hia I 



The crowd, noisy and riotous, atopped before an iim 
at Brentford, the sign of the Crown and Anchor; wo- 
men, children, ciiizena, peasants, aailora, with eyea 
fixed ou the balcony of the inn, exclaim, **Let oa eeo 
I he aavagea; tell ihem lo ahow themselves !" ''Look," 
^aid one, " there ia the princeaa at the window." **Oh 
no." replied another, ** it is Cicely, the wailing maid ; 
the princeaa, although an Indian, ia not ao yeltow-'^^ 
*'See! theio ia the old Pagan in hia ekinkof beai^akin. 



TKB INBIAN MAID. 



113 



Bol oor it is the groom. 1>mii. G«t along with yun 
Ciotljr; begono, Tom, and bring oat the savages ! lei 
usee the savages!" And as the savage* were in no 
hurry to appear on the baleoriy, the crowd, becoming 
more turbulent and impatienr, were already preparing 
to throw stones at the windows of the hotel, when o 
ailor, who was looking towards the road that led to 
London, perceived a coach at some distance — ii 
■lopped at the entrance of the town. A marine officer, 
in oniform, altghfed. " Holloa there ! Frank, here in 
•D old acquaintance of ours," said the sailor to one ui 
bii' oompsnions. who was at that moment in the aci 
of bonehing, rather roughly, a little rope merchant, 
vbo had taken the liberiy of thrusting himself before 
ton. " Frank, my boy. there is captain Smith." 

"Captain Smith *" These words spread imme- 
diately through the crowd, and the effect was magi- 
cal; the tumult ceased — every head was turned lo- 
wards the Ixmdon road; they were not less anxious to 
■•e captain Smith than the Indians, and when he 
ptwed them, every one saluted him. exclaiming " Long 
Uim captain Smith, the brave admiral of old England • 
Boaza! huaa! for captain Smiih ! Captain Smith 
iM^ver!" 

The captain passed through the crowd, and entered 
the inn. 



CHAPTER II. 

fOOA.HONTAB JN SNQLAND. 

Tbkeb yean had gone by amce captain Smith lefi 
England. He was strack with the change that bad 
••kwi place in Pocahontas. She was no longer a young 
giri. with a natural arilesaness of manners, changing 
npidly from a smile lo a tear, from gayety and mirth 
taaadnesB. She had become thoughtful and reserved ; 
wd the elegance of her form, and regularity of her 
features, not only were developed, but her entire per- 
•on bore the marks of that calm and imposing dignity 
which constitutes the true beauty of a perfect woman. 
^ was this dignity, without doubt, that inspired in 
etptain Smith an unlocked for reserve, notwithatand- 
^H the official rAfe that he was deputed to execute lo- 
^•n*» the Indian princess. Their first interview, 
•■•fefiwe. had ma air of solemnity, which might have 
^*en miatakea for coldness, had not captain S.nith 
*!"* regarded as the ambassador of the queen, and 
"cabootas as the daughter of a king, who. before re- 
c^ixiog hsr friend with their former intimacy. 
*oiild receive from him the marks of respect due to 

Wraok. 

"Noble princess," said captain Smith, « in the ab 
"0 of his majesty, the king of Great Britain, the 
«t iafbrowd of all you have done for her subjects. 
*iH be happy to express to yos in person her grati- 
W» for your services. I have preceded some houm 
^ envoy who bears yon her first presents, and the 
•ervaots of her household will be at your command. 
*• «waiie y«a at London, her capital eity, la which 



place her msjesty has granted me the pleasure of ac- 
companying you." 

Pocahontas was not far enough advanced in civili- 
zatinn to answer the captain in the same languoga 
with which he had addressed her; she therefore n- 
mained silent — and to conceal herembarraasraenis the 
captain was obliged to say, nearly in the same style, 
Mime kind things to the counsellor of Powhatan, Ul- 
lama. This was a true old savage, a stoic of the de- 
«)ert, who was charged with a special message from his 
Hovereign to captain Smith. Pocahontas, fearing that 
he woa about to deliver a formal harangue, which 
had been agreed upon between the minister and the 
king, motioned him to be silent; then recovering her- 
self immediately, she addressed the captain in these 
words: 

*' I am sensible of the compliments of your queen, 
and I accept her generous hospitaliiy. I shall first 
(hank hor admiral, lor having chosen for my guide* 
<he guest of Powhatan, once a stranger among my na< 
f ion. as i am now among bar's. I can call you father, 
as Powhatan once called you son !" 

These words, although spoken in pure enough En- 
glish, for Pocahontas had not ceased to cultivate this 
language since the departure of captain Smith, still 
preserved the character of her native idiom. The cap* 
lain, not daring to throw aside his reserve, did not no- 
tice at first the affectionate maimer in which these 
words were uttered. " Princess." replied he," although 
honored by your father with the title of son, it is the 
king of England alone that should have the right of 
calling you daughter." Bat. Pocahontas either dia- 
dainful or ignorant of the artifices of apology, without 
changing the melancholy expression of her counte- 
nance, persisted in her idea, and mingled a gentle re. 
preach with her reply : ** I will call you father, and 
you shall call roe daughter. You have often assured 
me that I should find a second home in your country ; 
but it was to see you alone that I came here— you 
i>nly can preserve friendship between your oompaoioni 
and the Indians. They told us that you were dead, 
and it was to ascertain the truth of this report that Ul- 
tama and myself determined to visit England, for your 
countrymen toll so many falsehoods that we cannot 
rely on what they say." 

Smith replied that, so far from forgetting his frieiMfa 
in Virginia, he was on the point of setting sail for 
Jamestown, when be received the letter from Ply- 
mouth, which announced her arrival in England. 

This explanation produced a smile on the face of 
Pocahontas, which, till then, had worn a grave if not 
melancholy expression ; and captain Smith again re- 
cognized that young and artless girl who formerly had 
charmed him with her innocent careues. Their oon- 
vertaiion became insensibly less ceremonious. But 
«Qch is the influence of a first impression, that there 
!<till existed a miiiual reserve between them, that re- 
quired a final explanation —an explanation which nei- 
ther of them was desirous of entering into. 

On arriving in London, Pocahontas was. carried 
away in so rapid a whirl mnd of sights, unknown le a 
girl brought up in the forest, that she had no longer a 
moment left to devote to eaplaia Saith ; and, for aeve- 



114 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



ral moDths, the only time allowed her for meditalion 
was io the stilluess of the night. 

Among the gifts presented to Pocahontas by the 
qaeen, was a complete suit of female attire ; she ac- 
cepted it with pleasure, and adopted the English cos- 
tume immediately, but not without complaining of the 
eonstraint She did not refuse, however, occasionally 
to look hi the mirror, to examine whether she ap- 
peared as charming in that dress ar they would have 
her imagine. But Ultama refused obstinately to 
change his costume, notwithstanding the curiosity 
that he universally excited. 

I cannot describe the various sensations of the two 
savages, for Pocahontas and Ultama did not leave jour- 
nals like captain Smith; but there exist some me- 
moirs that describe their introduction at court, where 
nothing was spared to dazzle the Indian princess ; for 
it was, at that time, an epoch of luxury and magnifi- 
cence. Citizens and courtiers endeavored to outshine 
each other by the splendor of their drees; and the 
London merchants, as a reward for the money lent by 
them to the nobles, and even the king, had obtained 
a cessation of the sumptuary laws, and could now dis- 
play their fortunes in covering themselves with chains 
of gold, jewels, and silk drapery, ornamented with 
pearls. 

The day that captain Smith had the interview with 
queen Anne, king James was still at Oxford, engaged 
in a theological discussion with the professors of that 
learned university ; but he returned to the court in 
Older to be present at the solemn introduction of Po- 
cahontas and Ultama. Sir Walter Scott described be- 
fore roe bis costume on that occasion, and I shall add 
that his majesty wore, among other jewels, a diamond 
worth 75,000 francs; which diamond he borrowed 
occasionally of Paul Pindar, a rich merchant, who did 
not wish to dispose of it. " Really," said his msjesty, 
on perceiving Ultama, " here is a savage that would 
terrify any one that has not seen our Scotch highlan- 
ders; but tell him to put aside his battle axe, or toma- 
hawk, as they call it in their jargon." Then noticing 
Pocahontas, " as for the barbarian princess," said he, 
" she is certainly very pretty, by St. Andrew .' She re- 
minds me of the queen Shebai" Whilst his majesty was 
remarking with pleasure, that his courtiers smilingly 
received this last allusion to his own wisdom, in the 
form of a conH)liment to the Indian prin>-ess, the door- 
keeper was endeavoring in vain to disarm Ultama of 
his tomaha\^k, recolierting well, if even the king 
had not hastened to remind him that his m8je<^ty 
never had the courage to bear the sight of arms, in 
consequence of a nervous susceptibility, attributed to 
an accident that happened to his muiher during her 
pregnoncy. But Ultama pcrsisicd in retaining his to- 
mahawk ; and, instead of kneeling to the king, accord- 
ing to the custom, he saluted him in the military man- 
ner of his own country, by flour iohing his weapon over 
his head. James, far from admiring this passage at 
arms, grew pale, and trembled ; he continued uneasy 
during the remainder of the ceremony, and it was the 
queen alone who entertained the guests by the affable 
conversation that she addressed Eometimes to Poca- 
hontoB, and sometimes to Ultama, who, understanding 



the English, but not speaking it, had recourse to Poca- 
hontas or captain Smith to interpret the language of 
the queen. His replies were always noble and aensi- 
ble. As for Pocahontas, they were astonished at the 
appropriateness and humor of her discouree, and at 
the facility with which she expressed henelf. 

For the first few days, the queen entertained Poea- 
hontas at Greenwich { she assisted in one of those al- 
legorical ballets that resembled the ancient myateriei 
more than the fairy masquerades of Ben Jonaon, and 
in which the queen loved to play a part Pocahontaa 
appeared to be very much amused, but Ultama de- 
clared that he had been much more direrted a few - 
days before at a cock-fight and a naval combat There 
was a ball, in which the Indian princeas consented to 
dance a step peculiar to her own country, and ahe did 
it so gracefully that she was covered with unadfmous 
applause. The ladies of honor took turns in receiving 
her — each one wished to entertain her at leaat one 
day, and show her to their friends. She was univer- 
sally admired for her simplicity and natural dignity. 
^ Every where," says Purchas, a contemporary writer, 
who had oflen seen and conversed with her, ** every 
where she showed herself worthy of being a king's 
daughter." Purchas relates that the bishop of Lon- 
don, the reverend doctor King, wished also to receive 
her at his house, and displayed a considerable degree 
of splendor. Pocahontas was not unwilling to em- 
brace the Christian religion, but 'Ultama Tomakin be- 
came a firmer Pagan, af\er the theologian Goldstow 
attempted to convert him. 

*' Well," said captain Smith to Ultama, " what do 
you think of old England, since you have seen the ca- 
pital city; it excels Pawhmanrie, does it not ?" 

*' Yes ; to know the number of its inhabitants it . 
would be necessary to count the stars in the heavens, 
and the sands on the sea-shore," replied Ultama, avoid- 
ing giving his opinion of the character of the English. 

** And is your curiosity satisfied V* 

" They have shown me every thing ! temples and 
palaces, vessels and houses ; and yet they have con- 
cealed from me one man." 

" One man !— and who is ho f" 

*' The king." 

" Have you forgotten that I introdaced you to his 
majesty ?" 

*' Ah !" replied Ultama, laughing, " that was not the 
kingt but a man who acted the king's part and not as 
well even as it might have been acted on the stage. 
Did you not remark that the sight of my tomahawk 
made him turn pale, and tremble? A true king would 
not be so cowardly." 

Captain Smith then explained to him the cause of 
the involuntary weakness of Jamos, son of Mary Stu- 
art ; but the savngc still denied that the king was a 
truo monarch. 

•' Do you think," said captain Smith, " Ihit the lords 
of the court, the generals, and magistrates, would con- 
sent to your kneeling before a false monarch ? Re> 
collect that only a week ago, you dined with his ma- 
jesty, and he was served by the roost noble chiefs of 
England." ( r\r^r 

" J^" replied ^A^^t'^'I^aV* n<^f<»|otten tbi. 



THE I ND IAN MAID. 



115 



fMttval, bat I did not recognize the king in it. On 
your departore from America, captain Smith, you pre- 
nated Powhatan wiih a Utile white dog, and since 
that day he has not made a repast without giving it 
the moat delicate morsels. Tell me if the true king 
of Great Britain would have permitted a foreign guest, 
the envoy of king Powhatan, to remain 'standing in 
his presence T" 

Captain Smith did not know what reply to make to 
this new inqniry. 

** Have you," said he, addressing Pocahontas, " any 
objectioa to the king 7" 

* I shoald prefer him with the venerable aspect of 
my father, instead of the warlike appearance that Ul- 
lama supposes to be the only virtue of a king." 

'* Well," said the captain to himself, " neither war 
rioiB nor women would select our king for a chief of 
the savage nation. I shall take care not to give an 
acooant of the opinions of these two Indians at the 
court." 

" What think you of the queen f" resumed the cap- 



** Ah V* replied Pocahontas. '* she is a queen, indeed] 
both generous and beaatiful !" 

<* In fine,** said the captain, *' will your account of 
our nation, on your return to America, be an unfavor- 
able one I" 

** No." replied she ; " I long to relate to my friends 
the wonders of my adopted country." 

*' I understand," said the captain, " that your visit 
here is becoming tiresome to you; but be patient: for 
in a lew days we will set sait for America " 

A ray of happiness shone on the face of Pocahontas, 
and the hope of leaving England so soon, reconciled 
her to what she had at first found objectionable in the 
English character and custom. She good-humoredly 
reproached Ultama for his savage prejudices; and, 
perhaps, if they had a second time asked her opinion 
of James, she would have pronounced him the great- 
est king in the world. 

The evening of the day on which this conversation 
look place between the daughter of Powhatan and 
captain Smith, lady Georgina Arundel conducted the 
Indian princess to the Globe Theate. 

The day before, lady Georgina had a private con- 
lerenee with the queen. 

■* I hope," said her majesty, " that you are at length 
convinced of the folly of your suspicions f Gratitude 
alone attaches captain Smith to the American princess, 
and glory only recalls him to Virginia ; glory, Georgi- 
na, is a rival that, fortunately, a mistress cannot be 
jealous oV* 

** But," replied lady Arundel, " these savages, appa- 
rently so innocent, have aUo their dissimulation. I 
cannot accuse the captain, however, of having de- 
ceived me ; but I think he deceives himself in con« 
siderifig Pocahontas merely a devoted girl and a daugh- 
ter; and if she were willing to speak, the captain 
would learn two secrets at once^their reciprocal at- 
tachment." 

'* Will you consent to have recourse to the strata- 
geiB already proposed 7" asked her majesty. ** The 
king has furnished an excellent pretext ; he is of opi- 



nion that Pocahontas should give a sincere pledge ef 
alliance between the Indians and our nation by wed- 
ding one of our courtiers or officers. They say that 
young Rolfe is in love with her ; should we not con- 
sult captain Smith concerning this marriage projected 
by us !" 

*' I confess, madam, that I dare not acquaint captain 
Smith with this stratagem; he is the last person to 
whom I could confide my suspicions." 

" This is jealousy, indeed," replied the queen; ** but 
I still think that you are unjust with regard to our 
brave admiral. Do you not remember the tenderness 
of his last letter ?" , 

" Yes ; and if yon had heard his ardent discourse to 
me this morning, you would be stiil more his advocate ; 
but I am not so credulous t a lover is eloquent with 
the mistress that he is going to desert, and timid with 
the one that will shortly supplant her. For the last 
week, captain Smith has refused me nothing, conscious 
that in another week he will be far distant from me.. 
I am a troublesome creditor, of whom he wishes to be 
disencumbered at any price. As for the beautiful 
savage, she requires very little of him to-day, in the 
hopes of possessing him entirely to-morrow. Never* ' 
theless, there remain to me many doubts, notwithstand- 
ing all the snares I have set to ascertain the truth of 
this mysterious passion. Sometimes more subtile than 
myself, and sometimes feigning not to undor^tand me, 
Pocahontas has always avoided confessing to me what 
1 am so desirous of having her disclose. I have en- 
deavored, but without success, to ascertain something 
from the frankness of Ultama." 

**What!" said the queen, **has he also turned a 
deaf ear to all your inquiries Y But I am not asto- 
nished, since doctor Goldstow was unable to induce 
him to embrace the Christian faith." 

** He not only concealfMi the secrets of his princosSk" 
said lady Georgina, pettishly, " but if I had not been 
on my guard, I really think that he would have dis- 
covered mine. I have also ventured, notwithstanding 
the severe ordinances of the king, to consult the sor- 
ceress of Lancaster county, who has borne here to 
brave even the funeral pile." 

** And what did she tell you T" said the queen, in a 
whisper. " Do not fear to confide in me ; I shall never 
betray you to my royal husband." 

*< Nothing very intelligible, but that mariners were 
very inconfitant lovers, and that there were more pow- 
erful charms than his in the country of ray rival. Oh ! 
since the last sentence against sorceresses has been so 
terribly executed, these p or women have been more 
obscure. 1 do not intend to lose, this evening, neither 
a look nor gesture of Pocahontas, whom I am going 
to accompany to the Globe Theatre, where captain 
SmiJh will join us." 

*• Indeed," said the queen, " I should like to be one 
of the company. You must reserve for mo a place in 
the corner of your box, where I shall sit incognito." 
The queen repaired that night to the theatre with 
lady Armndel and Pocahontas. Being already ac- 
quainted with the play, they could read the eflToct of 
the scenes on the countenance of the Indian maid, 
who, all attention and curiosity, entered into the scenic 



116 



THB gentleman's MAOAZINE. 



iUosions with iha delight of a penoB to whom such 
ipeciarles were cnlirely novel. 

8kak0peare*s roroedy of " Twelfth Nighl" wae the 
pl&y. The Indian princess was very much interested 
in the plot, but she did not understand very clearly 
the burlesque iircnes, for site found more to be pitied 
than laughed at in the misfortunes of poor Mai vol io, 
^bo is persuaded that ho loves and is beloved. She 
•oon identified herself, however, in the character of 
Viola, the young girl whom captain Antonio dieem- 
barks on the shore of Illyriarand who, disguised as a 
page, enters inio the service of duke Orsioo, with the 
hope of one day becoming his bride. During the ce- 
lebrated act in which the protended pago speaks in 
■ucb touching terms of his attachment to the duke, 
lady Arundel could not forbear saying to tho queen : 
-fhe how attentive ehe is, and how she feaia lest 
Viola should betray herself." 

The play proceeded :— 



Duke. What dost thou know f 

Viola. Too well what love women to men may 
owe: 
In faith ihey are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter lev'd a man 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
I should your lordship. 

Duke, And what's her history f 

Viola. A blank, my lord ; she never told her love. 
But let concealment, like a worm i* the bud. 
Feed on her damask oheek: she pin'd in thought; 
And, uiih a green and yellow melancholy, 
the sat, like patience on a monument, 
(Basiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? 
W«> men may say more— ewear more— but, indeed, 
/ Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
Much in our vows, but little in our love. 

iPocahontas could not refrain from weeping. 

« Will your msjesty,'* said lady Arundel, "still per- 
.iftt^ Mying that she does not lovet" 

Captain Smith came late to the theatre. Scarcely 

. ha^e sealed himself in a box opposite the one oc- 

191 pied by Tocahontas, than captain Antonio came on 

the 



Vicia, (to the duke,) Here cornea the man, sir, that 
did rescue me. 

Duke. That face of his 1 do remember well ; 
Yet, \\h0n I saw it laat, it was besmear'd 
Aa black as vulcan^ la tho smoke of war: 
A brawiipg vessel was he captain of, 
For shallow driught, and bulk unprizable: 
With which such scathful grapple did he make 
Wiih the most noble baitom of our fleet. 
That very envy, and the tongue of lofs, 
Cried fame and honor 00 him. 

By a spontaneous movement, unforeseen and unani- 
mous, the pit and boxes, in turning towefds captain 
Smith, applied to him the words of duke Oraino, in 
eidaiming, *« Fame and honor on him." 

At thia moneoi. PocnhoQiulhigoC the fUj, and the 



compliment to captain Smith caused a lively enthtaat- 
asra to brighten her features. The captain, who waa 
forced to reply to this public homage, arose, an«l 1 
having saltited the audience, cast a look on the ] 
princess, that seemed to say : "It is you, you, who 
saved my life, to whom I am indebted for the pleasura 
of receiving the glorious acclamations of my countiy- 
men." Pocahontas was delighted, but on turning her 
head, she met the menacing look of lady Arundel.^ 
The queen left the theatre before the play was ended, 
and captain Smith took her place. Pocahontae felt 
her heart beat, in seeing lady Arundel intercept a new 
glance of friendship evidently intended for hewelf» 
and the familiarity with which she took poss essi on of 
the captain, as if he had been her own propetty. This 
is the last resourcfe of a woman, who, finding her lover 
escape her, imposes herself upon him whether or do. 
Pocahontas, the poor girl of the desert, was so miseh 
troubled that she did not notice, by the embarrasaad 
look of captain Smith, that lady Arundel had lost all 
in this desperate game. % 

Never did a night appear longer to Pocahontas than 
that which followed the exhibition which has just been 
described. The cause of her imeasiness may be eaaily 
imagined. At a very early hour the next mnraing, 
she shuddored involuntarily on beholding the woman 
who had regarded her with a jealous eye, enter her 
apartment. She expected an explanation, and anm- 
moned up all her courage in perceiving on the lips of 
lady Arundel a bitter amile of irony. The latter ad- 
dressed Pocahontae with all the haughtinessof a ooiirt 
lady who wished to humiliate a timid rival. 

" My dear princess," said she, " I am depntod by 
the queen to deliver you a messsge *' 
" Speak," replied Pocahontas, coldly. 
" Last evening." continued lady Arundel, " Ae 
queen informed me of a measure that would tend to 
strengthen the ties already established between yont 
nation and England. Since you have adopted so will- 
ingly our manners, customs, and faith, her msjeaty has 
reason to hope that you will accept, from her band, a 
husband. One of her suhjeets, an officer, young, brawe^ 
and handsome, is sincerely attached to you, and in fa- 
vor of his choice, the queen will load him with ho- 
nors." 

" And what is the name of this officer I" denandad 
Pocahontas. 

" Sir Jomea Rolfe, son of the lieutenant of captain 
Smith, whom the queen intends appointing goveinor 
of Jamestown." 

" Does her m tjesly think," replied Pocahontae, *' that 
the daughter of her ally, Powhatan, has visited Lon- 
don but to find a husband V 

" Yes ; this was the first thought that occurred to 
her majesty and all the ladies of honor, on hearing of 
your arrival in England." 

" Indeed f" said Pocahontas { " but your eonntry- 
men, in their many wars with my nation, have not 
destroyed all our warriors." 

" They even pointed out the man that yon had oaaM 
in search of," replied lady Arundel ; "and all our la- 
diea of hooer conceived a violent jealousy for th»g|W- 
titnde that yo« iiw|iiMl in captain a^nidu" . 



THB INDIAN HAID. 



117 



«Alir demanded Pocahootai. 
<* Yfii all," replied lady Arundel, *' and one in par< 
tiealar, who has aone claimi on the friendahip of ihe 



** And is it to secure him for this lady that the queen 
of England ia so desirous of choosing a husband for 
Pocahontas f But I thank her for her generous inttn- 
Ikma with regard to the son of lieutenant Rolfe." 
* Do yon consent, then, to hecome his wife ?" 
*' I Ant demand his promotion/' replied Pocahontas, 
with digaily ;** he is the son of a noUle mariner, of 
the lailhfal lieutenant of captain Smith. He is, as 
you have said, young, brave, and handsome ; and 1 
shoaid be happy to prove to his father thaX I am not 
angvateful ibr his attentions to me during our voyage 
ii«D JaoMstown to Plymouth. As ibr the lady who 
loves captain John Smith enough, without doubt, to 
aeoompany him to Virginia, and to abandon for him 
her hone and country, go tell her, madam, that Poca- 
hontas will not dispute -her place on board the admi- 
ial*s veasel." 

in ooBsequence of an explanation which took place 
the day before between captain Smith and lady Arun- 
del, it wae the intention of that lady to distress her af- 
flicted rival as much as possible ; but the pride of Po- 
caheptas humbled her so much, that she lell the room 
mere confused than triumphant at an interview, the 
ooDsequences of which her jealousy and malice had not 
considered, neither with regard to herself, nor the 
unfortunate Indian girl. 

The next day, Ultama,on visiting Pocahontas, found 
her occupied in writing — for this child of the de- 
sert, not content with merely satisfying her curiosity, 
had made rapid progress in ail the branches that could 
' ornament her raind, and enlighten her understand. 
ing. 

"Good news!'* exclaimed Ultama, "good nevvs; 
captain Smith set out this morning for Gravesend, in 
order to hasten the refitting of the third ship of his 
aquadion, and before new moon we will be on the 
ocean. Oh ! the more I see of this city and its pala- 
ces, the more I Iqng to be restored to my native fo- 
rests and wigwams. In all these edifices, of which 
the people are so vain, I feel a want of air ; and the 
weight of the stone, with which they are constructed, 
is on my heart/' 

•• In your extreme impatience to return home, Ulta- 
ma," asked Pocahontas, " could you depart without 
me V* 

" My impatience/' replied he, " would never urge 
me to that step, for did I not promise Powhatan to 
bring back his daughter ?" 

" Well," said Pocahontas/' make an oath to mo that 
nothing shall prevent you from restoring me to my fa- 
ther, living or dead, in myj^ridal robes, or in ray 
coffin ?" • 

*'I do swear! but why this oath? What danger 
threatens you, Pocahontas f Do you fear some new 
treason like that of captain Argal, who detained you 
on board his vessel till your father paid your ran- 
som!" 

** No/' replied she, ** but do not accuse captain Ar 
^al of treaaon. I oould have escaped at the time I 



appeared to be a captive ; for it was myself that made 
that agreement with him, in order to prevent Powha* 
tan from giving Opechacanou the liberty of putting to 
death our prisoners. I have not, at the present mo- 
ment, any more fear of being retained by the English 
against my will, than I had on the former occasion. 
I only dread the idea of being forgotten when I no 
longer ahall have a voiee to make, a second time, the 
same request of my father-^and when I shall not 
have the strength to raise my arois towards the 
ocean." 

*'What do you meant" demanded Ultama; **in 
less than a week we shall be on our way to our na- 
tive land." 

*' In less than a week I ahall be dead, Ultama ; but 
remember your oath. What I have just written is to 
solicit a last lavor of captain Smith. I do net now m- 
quiro him to reciprocate the love of Pocahontas ; to 
accept the offers of Powhatan, who, braving Opecha- 
canou, would have rendered his son- in- law more |ilv« 
erful than himself; no, all I desire of him is to give 
my cuiiin a place in his vessel, in order that my fother 
may not think that 1 have been detained by the Eng- 
lish, and ihat Opechacanou may not have another 
pretext for renewing a war so fatal to both na- 
tions." 

There was something so melancholy in these woids^ 
and the tone in which they were uttered, that Ultama 
hid his face in his hands to conceal his tears. Pocahon- 
tas pursued, " If captain Smith should refuse me this 
favor, which I think he cannot do, then, Ultama, you 
will perhaps obtain it of lieutenant Rolfo, by telling 
him it was on my account that the queen of England 
appointed his son governor of Jamestown ; but if he 
should refuse also, then you will procure it of an Eng- 
lish merchant at the price of all the jewels and orna- 
ment given us by the queen and captain Smith." 

" But/' said Ultama, " what makes you anticipate 
so near a death f What fatal warning have you had 
since yesterday f 

** Listen to me," continued Pocahontas j •* befora 
leaving Pawhmanrie, I wished to bid farewell to our 
Gods; in going, for the last time, to the altar of Qnis- 
ocan, to deposit a collar of shells beside the one sent 
there by my dying mother, I met old Outalissi, chief 
of the conjurors, who, afier vainly attempting to dis- 
suade me from my fatal voyage, in represent ing all the 
dangers to which I was exposed, by ray youth and in- 
expericnco, among a people opposed to our religion, 
said to me : 'A time may come, ray daughter, when, 
lo escape violence, injustice, or captivity, your only re- 
source will be in taking your own life. Here is a ta« 
llaman more powerful than the perfidy and oppression 
of the while people.' It was a portion of the poison- 
ous extract in which our warriors dip their arrows, 
most carefully preserved under the transparent gum 
of the persiraon. Until yesterday, this talisman had 
been concealed in my belt ; yesterday, the moment ar- 
rived to use it— I already feel it freesing the blood in 
my veins !" 

Ultama uttered a mournful exclamation, and asld, 
•* Pocahontas, in committing suicide, have you forgot, 
ten that your father will be inconsolate in seeing Ihe 



118 



THE GENTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



corpM of his daughter f When he uks me if I have 
avenged her, and on whom, what shall I anawer 
himr 

«• Faithful friend of Powhatan/' replied Pocahontaa. 
** what vengeance dost thou owe me, even were I lo 
implore it V f , who have deaerted my country, my 
ijriendi, and my goda— -none ! I die with all my love, 
and thii love alone hat caused my death. Oh .' Uha- 
ma, remember that in dying I have required but one 
)>romise of thee. I have only to tell thee in what 
place I desire Powhatan to lay the last remains of his 
daughter. At the foot of mount Ussamack, where the 
-white men sought in vain for the mine of gold, is a 
grove of hickory and myrtle, which, at my request, 
captain Smith protected from the axe of his compan- 
ions. It is there that 1 found him many timea musing 
tNsside the waters of (he Maihapromy, under the thick 
Ibliage that was gently agitated by the wind. He, far 
from frowning when I thoughtlessly interrupted his 



will be sweeter in this grove than elsewhere, and I 
am sure that captain Smith, on his retam to Virginti, 
will repair there again occasionally. When the pooO' 
ranee sings, he will remember my legend, and aiNiie> 
limes, perhaps, will imagine that it is the aonl of iN». 
cahontas that has borrowed, in her turn, the aong t£ 
the bird to speak to him she loved." 

But already the voice of Pocahontas was growiog 
faint, and her last words were drowned in the aobs of 
her father's friend. These aoba were heard by aome 
of the aervanta that the queen had given the Aneri- 
can princess during her stay in London, and on enter- 
ing her apartment, they ran immediately in search of 
medical aid. Thia aid, ineffectual in deatroying the 
poiaon, prolonged its aad eOecis, for it is related in the 
history of the time, that Pocahontas had three daya of 
suffering before she expired. 

/^ Ultama kept his word. Two months after the death 
of the unfortunate American girl, the Indiana of Vir- 



•fltoB of conqoeat and glory, would make me ait down ^gioia descried on Chesapkake bay, the flag of Sir John 
beside him. to teach me the words of his native Ian* Smith ; and when he entered the harbor, they reoog- 
guage ; then, when evening began to throw ita shades , /nized on the deck the admiral and their brother Ulia- 
around ua, and when the bird we c&ll pocorance, aeb ^a. Every one was astonished at the sadaeas which 
op the mournful cry which gives the winged visiters Las universally visible. They asked why Pbcahootas 
its name, he would delight in hearing me relate how ^as not there to salute the shore of her native land ; 
Ihia mysterious and solitary bird lends its voice to the/ the ooflin of the Indian maid was placed before th«B, 
lamentations of an American princess who died of an and thorough cheeks of the children of the forest, and 
unfortunate love. It seems to me that my last sleel^ the sons of the sea, alike were wet with tears. 



C^'' 



\ 



ON PARTING WITH A FAVORITE PICTURE. 



MIFFLIN, ARTIST. 



One longer look, and then, again, farewell ! 
So long companion of my wandering way — 
So long attendant on my lonely hours — 
How lovelier, far, when I shall part with thee ! 
How oft, sweet, silent friend, whose dreamy eyes 
Still met my own whenever I turned to thee— 
How often, gazing, have I felt my heart 
Subdued and softened to the quiet tone 
Of thy serenest musing — every care 
Subside in peace, and passion stand rebuked 
Within the presence of those dove like eyes !— 
My wandering thoughts reclaimed, atid fancy led 
Back to the find, believing days of youth, 
Wnen all seemed such as thou must sure have been / 
Blest world, where guile and selfishness were not. 
But eyes like thine grew bright at others' joy, 
And lips that suffered, plead for others* woe ! 
. When youth perennial glowed upon the cheek, 
And beauty was the reaox of the mind — 
The mind all radiant with celestial light — 
The skies themselves were brighter, and the earth 
Enjoyed the influence of a nearer heaven!-— 
Blest days, that were not, and that may not be ! 
Yet sure fAou wast — and loved — and suficred — thou, 
With look too lovely for the taint of earth. 



Which should have fled thee, as from spirits pure 

All evil influence, or as shadows fly 

Before the rising of the radiant day ! 

Thau leasf— and Guido saw thee, happy, he 

On earth beholding visions of the skies ! — 

But happier thus to give to future time. 

Vision no other eyes nor time could see ! 

No oiheseyes — blest artist! — for in kirn 

The beauty dwelt that fell on all he saw, 

Which, like the medium of prismatic glass. 

Arrayed creation in a rainbow dress ! 

One longer look, and then, sweet face, farewell ! 

Deep in my heart reflected still to live — 

The dream of days forever past recall. 

And hope of hoars — which I have ceased to hope ! 

I would not vulgar eyes should gaze on thee. 
With listless arrogance, nor common lips 
With coarser praises speak thy charms ; 
But she who holds communion with thee now — 
Her*s is a heart to sympathize with thine-— 
(Whose lips shall mock the ruble's of thine own. 
Whose eyes reflect the loveliness of thine>— 
; With her I leave thee — silent friend, farewell f 



POSTS AND THEIE POETRY. 



119 



POETS AND THEIR POETRY. 



THE SECOND PAPER. 



KORNER, 



Thi short bat splendid career of Ca&l Tbiodoe 
KoRNiR, the poet-warrior of modem Germany, is not 
I rabject of familiar acquaintance to the American, 
or. indeed to the English reader. A few of Korner's 
fogiiive pieces from De Leier und de Schvertt and his 
celsbnited *' Sword Song" have appeared in English 
garb, and afford concIuBive proof of his talents; but 
the Tsnatility of his genius, the depth of hia patriotism, 
tbe brilliancy of hia diversi/ied career, and the particu- 
liiiof his early death, are unknown to many who boast 
.•a intimacy with the literature of continental Europe. 
The memory of Korner is regarded by his countrymen 
with enthusiastic admiration; and he deserved their 
lore, fur the entire purposes of his soul were devoted 
to the well-being of his beloved native land. His 
cifly prospects of a brilliant career were oversha- 
dowed by the cloud that hung over Germany during 
tbe Napoleon war ; he forsook his flowery path, and 
darted into the " steel-driven'* battle-field. But the 
poetry that pervaded his mind burst forth even in the 
boor of danger ; the claims of his country furnished his 
AQse with employment, and several of hia choicest 
gems were produced amidst the excitement of the 
coning fight He died the death of a warrior, at the 
age of twenty-two, and was buried in the woodland, 
with the honora of war. 

Koroer waa born at Dresden on the twenty- third of 
December, 1791. There was nothing in hia early 
yoDlb to indicate a probability of hia future eminence 
either as a poet or a soldier; he excelled in the gym- 
oaitic exercises of the schools, and evinced a thorough 
knowledge of dancing, horsemanship, fencing, and 
•wimming, before he became acquainted with the sob- 
iletiea of mathematics, which, with history and natural 
philosophy, constituted the course of his serious studies; 
he objected to the trouble attendant on a knowledge 
of the tongues, and his hatred of the French language 
io particular waa obstinate and fixed. He inherited 
the national partiality to rontic, and soon became 
nnsterof the violin and guitar; he was a skilful 
driDghtoman ; and delighted in the European pastime 
of tomery. Hia father, a Saxon counsellor of appeals, 
aaaociated with the literati of^ day; Goeihe and 
Scbiller were frequent visiters ; and the liallads of the 
latter poet tempted the young Korner to essay his hand 
io the construction of various humorous verses upon 
kK»l and temporary aflairs. Schiller died while 
Korner waa in his boyhood ; the young poet lost an 
attached and naeful friend : but he was surrounded 
^the choice spiriuof the northern climes, and there- 
fere suflered hot little from the deprivation. The 



Danish poet Ochlenschlagcr, the hintorian Dippokf, 
who also died young, the pastor Roller, professor Fis- 
cher, of the Saxon Ritter academy, and Ernest von 
PAiel, an intelligent and accomplished colonel in the 
Prussian army, vvere amongst the frienda and private 
tutors who contributed to form the growing mind ef 
Korner. ^ 

When he had attained his seventeenth year, he se- 
lected the art of mining as the maip object of hia 
future study, with a prospeciive idea of making it hia 
profrssion. Werner, the Counsellor of Mming at 
Freybuig, where Korner commenced bis studies, and 
professor Lampadios. with other distinguished men, 
took much interest in the welfare ef the young student; 
who entered into the practical details of a minec'a 
life with much enthusiasm, till he was seduced from 
his laborious path by the temptations offered to hia 
notice by the auxiliaries, chemistry, geology, and mi- 
neralogy. In the practice of these sciences, he soon 
acquired a proficiency that excited the surprise of the 
professors, and earned him a proportionate fame. 

Before he had reached his twentieth year, he made 
a pedestrian tour through the Oberlanssitz, in the Si- 
lesian monntaina, and made extraordinary addiiiooa to 
his stock of practical experience, besides gaining the 
friendship of many celebrated men. 

About thia time, a serious change came over the 
spirits of young Korner, owing to the violeiit death of 
a fellow student to whom he wna enthusiastically at- 
tached. Schneider was a roan of vigorous mind, but 
of a dark and melancholy temperament, with more 
than a usual share of that superstitious gloom and 
morbid fancy which mark the German character. 
He exercised a powerful influence over the young and 
ardent Korner, who made him the depositary of hia 
secreU. and the partaker of his sorrows and his joys. 
The friends were skating together, and while dashing 
rapidly along over the surface of the frozen lake, the 
ice suddenly gave way, and his friend Schneider was 
snatched from his side to instant death. Another 
friend, a gay and promising artist, also met his fate at 
ihe same time; and the eight of the senseless bodies of 
his dear associates thus suddenly deprived of life pro- 
duced a sad and lasting impression on Korner*B vivid 
imagination. The tone of his poetical efiSirts assumed 
a melancholy but impassioned accent ; the light piecea 
natural to a young poet's pen, were discontinued ; he 
produced a series of spiritual sonnets, and con 'em- 
plated the production of a •• Pocket Book for Chria- 
tiana," but was eventually diverted from his design 
by the excitement of an active life. 



lao 



THB OBNTLEMAN^fl MAGAZINE. 



He proposed to take a mtneralogical tour, on foot, 
to the Hariz mouDtaina, bat was prevented by a dight 
lameneM. He removed to Leipzig for (he farther pro- 
lecution of his studies, and diligently labored in (he 
sdeoce of botany, and the prosecution of philosophy, 
history, and anatooiy. Several incidents occurred, 
during (bis portion of his life, of a nature peculiar to 
the pursuits of German students in general ; he was 
involved in the quarrels of the two parties, ** Reno- 
misten and Studenten;" he published a volume of 
poems entitled *' Blossoms ;" suffered severely by a 
tertian fever ; became a member of an JE$thetic society 
(a term invented by Baumgarten, and meaning " the 
philosophy of beauty,**) joined a lady, a physician, and 
•B artisi, in producing a little periodical called, *' Tea 
leaves;" established a poetical association; joined 
Ike Macaria,a social and literary society ; and became 
invdved in quarrels with the superiors by refusing to 
■nbmit to seme coercive measures which he declared 
4lo be unjust 

After a short residence in Berlin, Korner, at the 
age of twenty, went to Vienna, under a combination 
of ftvorable auspices. Cheered by the friendship of 
Humboldt and Schlegel, he launched boldly furlh into 
the world of letters, and devoted the chiefest porlien 
of his time to poetry and dramatic productions. His 
Urst essays consisted of two one act pieces, in alezan* 
drtnes, called The Bride, and The Green Domino, both 
of which were acted with much success. He bestowed 
great labor and attention on a hibtorical tragedy 
called Conradin, but never completed it, being aware 
that the nature of the plot would have called forth 
the censor's interdiction ; and Korner wrote for the 
stage, and languished fur the fame attendant upon the 
public's applause. Aficr the production of another 
twry succesfful farce, called The Night Watch, ho de- 
termined to devote his pen to subjects of a passionate 
and tragic nature. A tale of Hcinrich von Kleist's 
was, with some alterations, worked up into a drama 
in three acts, called Toni. Soon af\er followed a ter- 
rific tragic piece, in one act, called The Expiation. 
He now considered himself prepared to venture on 
the production of the Hungarian Leonidas, Zriny 
This was followed by an appalling drama, called 
Hedwig, and a tragedy called Rosamund, taken from 
English history. His last dramatic work of a serious 
kind, Joseph Heydcrich^ was founded on a real incident, 
the self sacrifice of a brave Austrian subaltern officer, 
who devoted his own life to save that of his lieutenant 
He still found time, notwithstanding these works, to 
produce three comic pieces. The Counnfrom Bremen^ 
The Officer of the Guard, and The Governess : as also 
two operas, The Fisher Girl, or Hatred and Love; and 
the Four Years* Post, as well as several small poems ; 
and he also concluded an opera commenced some time 
before — The Miners. Part of an opera which ho had 
written for Beethoven, The Return of Ulysses, was 
also ready, and he had, likewise prepared a qiultilude 
of plans, both of small and largo pieces. 

The whole of his productions eiperienced a recep- 
tion far bejrond his expectations. The public feeling 
•bowed itself the most enthusiastically at the first re- 
preaentationof Zriny. The author was called to appear 



before the audience in person — an honor altogether 
unusual in Vienna. But the single voices of oartain 
critical judges, the favorable opinion of the judicioiu 
few, was yet more gratifying to his feeliogs. Tha 
friendly judgment of Goethe reached him from alar; 
and, by bis influence, The Bride, The Oreen Domino^ 
and The Expiation were brought out at Weimar, with 
porticnlar care and with eminent success. 

This was the happiest, and notwithstanding tha 
brilliancy of his military career, the brigheat portkn 
of Komer*B life. His father, in the biographical aketch 
prefixed to his collection of poems, puUiahed ander 
the title of " The Lyre and the Sword," terms hie ■(»- 
joum at Vienna the fruition of a world of j«yy. Besidea 
the glory of his eminently successful career, and his in- 
timacy with the great literary and the literary great, he 
enj.)yed the fascinations of the most refined female 
society, at the houses of the celebrated female poet 
Caroline Pichler and Madame de Pereira. Several 
visits were paid to the country seat of his godmother 
the duchess of Courland, near Altenburg; and a cer- 
tain fair lady of Vienna, whose name has not transpired, 
conceived a violent passion for the gay poet, and "en- 
chained him by the charms ef beauty and of aoul/* 
In consequence of the succees of his *' Zriny," he was 
appointed poet to the court theatre— a preferment of 
sufficient emolument to ensure him a living income. 

Nothing now remained to bless the favorite of for- 
tune but the completion of his nuptials with the object 
of his love, who had also endeared herself to the 
bosom of Korner*s father. But tho cry of" Liberty" 
resounded through the land; the presence of the 
French provoked the execrations of the people, who 
refused longer to endure the interference of Napoleon. 
Korner determined to sacrifice his assurance of happi- 
ness ; and devote himself to the deliverance of hia 
country, to whom ho offered his life, " crowned with 
the flowery wreaths of friendship, love, and joy." The 
following extracts from his own tragedy of Zriny em- 
body his sentiments upon the occasion, the tendemeos 
and heroism of which demand our approbation. 

JURANITSCH. 

Bat first I must the greater pledge redeem. 

For which I stand indebted to my country: 

My heart, my love, my feelings, and my thoughts. 

These, my sweet bride, are thine, and shall remain so: 

But what men call their life, tho span of time 

That I may breathe within this lower world. 

This is the sole tK)£8C6KiGn of my country! 

My love is all eternal ; and on high 

I can bo thine, thine undisturb*d, thine only! 

But this high feeling for my native land 

Can finish only with my latest struggle. 

Whatever I am indited to my country, 

I can repay it only^^ring life, 

And will do so. 1*11 seek my bride on high. 

And with divinest transports meet her there. 

Since I shall leave no duty undischarged.^- 

Fly without me, and think, when you are saved. 

In softest bitterness of tears, on one 

Who loved you once so warmly and so well. 

Yet threw aside his fondest dream of bliss 



VOKT8 AND THBIR 90BTRT. 



131 



Wbeo a eooeeni'd the weliara of hi* oonntry ! 
Wcep'it ihoaf I pfttn thee — jet I would not do m; 
Thill ■« my love w not leM werm than thine ; 
Til ihii indoeti me to Deke the offering. 
Hit I devote mytelf to death were little—* 
Mf lift i oft have Tentiirad in the hanrd, 
Btt iWt I do 10, 'mid ■offa joy -and plearare, 
'Aljd bappioem and highcat earthly blin» 
Thii ii the struggle, this deservea the prize — 
MyoooDtry may be proud of such on ofieiiog. 



Major Ton Lutzow had announced his formation of 
« »rpi of Free Yagers, at Breslau, and at his call, 
ipecimeos of all classes'— literati, landholders, artists, 
oSeen who had served in the Prussian army, and 
udeot youths of every station in society, flocked to his 
nndard. Korner joined the corps, in the month of 
Much, 1813. and was present at ihe oonsecraiion in a 
Ti^e church not far from Zobten. . A choral hymn 
viitien by Korner was sung by all present ; the venc- 
23ble ptitor of the place made a powerful address, and 
ttfniniitered the oath— to spare neither their wealth 
fior their lives for the cause of mankind, of their coun- 
ty, lad their religion — and to go cheerfully to victory 
V to death. The oath was enthusiastically sworn, and 
ifae good old man fell upon his knees, and implored 
God to shower a blessing on His combatants. Martin 
lotfaer** soul-moving hymn concluded this imposing 
Blenoity. The Lutzow free corps deserved the good 
opiiiioD of their country ,* they were a voluntary asso- 
ciatjoo, but remarkable for their activity, energy, and 
enterpriie. Several of these independent yagers made 
t TOW neither to cut their hair nor their beards till 
tby had driven the French out of Germany — a vow 
^Mh they punctually fulfilled. 

Komer's perfection in athletic Gzercises, zeol and 
ponctQality in the performance of his duty, and joyous 
iliiposiiioQ at the social board, soon rendered him a 
popoUr member of the yager corps ; the poet of ober- 
ya^r (Serjeant- major) was bestowed upon him shortly 
after the formation, and in less than five weeks he 
Vtt elected lieutenant by the universal suffrages of 
^ comrades. 

Id the hour of danger, the muses smiled on Korner. 
'^ following version of his beautiful *< war-song** 
dennnds our utmost praise ; it is translated by G. F. 
Kichardsoo, a distinguished German scholar; Lord 
Fnncis Leviaon Gower has also given a version of 
the tame poem. 

WAR SONG; 

^Ntm on ik€ Morning of the Batlh of Dannoberg, 
lfayl2, 1813. 

Darkly dawning, death enahrouded 

Breaks the great, the dreadful day; 
And the swn, all cold and douded, 

lights ne on oar gory way. 
In yon hoats thai now a ssem bl e , 

Falea of mighty empiree Ke ; 
And die lota already tremMe, 
At they east Ihe brawn die ! 
* «hie1imir,aaildawnaoDiMiww, 
hifobu t» joiii heart and hand la the tow, 
^he««»wiia»w»]i?e; tobetrvaifwadi^! 



Behind ne— in the gloom of night. 
Lie defeat, disgrace, and shame ; 
All, wherewith the tyrant might 

Disgrace our nation and our name. 
Our native tongue was all profaned ; 
Our country's temples overthrown ; 
Our faith destroy'd ; our honor stain*d ; 
And could we weep these glories gone t 
No! vengeance inspired us to join heart and hand. 
To avert heaven's curse from our loved native land* 
And to save her Palladium, ere yet it was flown ! 



Before us — what bright scenes are given ! 

The glorious future's golden dreams ; 
And see! through opening galea of heaven. 

The lovely light of freedom gleama! 
German arts again shall meet us, . 
German songa dispel our gloom f 
All that's great again shall greet as; 
All that's fair again shall bloom. 
But a horrid uncertainty rests on yon strife. 
And though glory's the prise, yet the stake ia lilh; 
And our vicloriea but hasten at on to the lamh. 

.Yet with God we'll seek the field, 
There devote our latest breath ; 
Our lives an offering we will yield. 

And brave thro' Him the power of death! 
Yes, 10 save thine ancient glory. 
Fatherland, weUl die for thee! 
Those we love shall tell our story. 
Those our deaths shall render ftee; 
And the tree of thy freedom immortal shall bloom. 
Even though its fresh branches shall wave o'er oar 

tomb, 
Hear,0 our country, our offering for thee! 



Turn your looks yet homewards, where 
Love was wont, erewhile, to bloom. 
Ere the tempest of despair 

Swept its blossoms to the tomb! 
And if tears unbidden come. 

Tears disgrace not valor's eye ; 
Waft one kiss to love and borne. 
Then commend their cause on high ! 
All the fond lips for our safely that pray; 
All the loved hearts that bleed for us to-day ; 
Comfort and succor them, God of the sky ! 



Now, then— fVesh to yonder fight. 

Turn with eager heart and brow; 
AU of earth has ta'en its flight. 

Even heaven forsakes us now! 
Then let every valiant brother 

Prove himself a hero here. 
True hearui see again each other: 
Now. farewell to all most dear! 
Hath! hear ye the shooli and the tfaandem beiita fit^ 
Ob, hnthent on* to deadi and to glory ! ^QO g IC 
And waV ti»«e in another, and happier ■phtKfrf 



122 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



The " Prayer duriDg ihe Biilile/' compoaed upon 
ihe Mine occMion. deaervee to follow. The tnmala- 
4ioQ ia by the aame hand. 

Father, I call on thee! 
VThile the smoke of the firing envelopea my aighr. 
And the lighininga of alaughter are wing'd on their 
flight, 

Leader of battlea, I call on thee! 

Father, oh lead me! 
Lead me to vict'ry, or lead me to death ! 
Lord, 1 yield to tbee my breaih ! 

Loid, aa thou wilt, ao Wad ma! 

God, I aeknpwledge thM! 
In the groTo where the leaToa of the autamn are fad- 
ing, 
Aa here 'mid the atorma of the load cannonading. 

Fountain of Ioto, 1 acknowledgo thee! 

Father, oh blcaa me ! 
I oonmit my life to the will of heaven. 
For thon cantt take it aa thoa haat given. 

In life and death, oh bleaa me! 

Father, I praiae tbee!^ 
Thia ia no atrife for the gooda of ihia world ; 
For freedom alone ia our banner unfurrd. 

Thus, falling or conquering, 1 praiae thee ! 

God, I yield myaelf to thee ! 
When the thundera of battle are load in their atrife, 
And my opening reioa pour forth my life, 

Gud, I yield myaelf to ihee! 

The free corpa diatinguiahed themteWea in the war, 
and Korner, during ihe second month, waa appointed 
adjutant by Major von Luts^m, who knew his worth, 
and wialied his presence on an expedition towards 
Thuhngia which he waa about to take, with but three 
aquadrona of his cavalry. The French were annoyod 
by the vigilance of these troopa. who cat off their 
oouriers nmi their aoppliea of uin munition- Napoleon 
ordered ihe destruction ol the whole corps, and desired 
his generals t<i effect this object al all hHzards; and 
oniered. aa a deterring example to the German volun> 
teera, that not a man should be left alive! During 
an armi>iire, which saved the life and f triunesol the 
duke of Ptidua, the Luiziw corps were surrounded 
near Leipzig, at twilighi. by a superior force; and 
«iid when Komer rude lorward to demand an expla 
nation, the commander of the enemy answered by 
etnking him with hia sword. A general attack wa» 
made upon the Lmiow cavalry before they had drawn 
a aabre; the majir waa aaved by the C?oaaacka. and 
fled with the largest portion of his troopa to the right 
bank of the Elbe, where the infantry of hia corpa were 
already collected. 

Korner. severely wounded in the head by the com- 
manding ofBrer of the enemy, fled to a neighboring 
"wood, lie had scarcely time to bind up his wound 
when tie perceived a troop of the enemy in full chaae. 



Hia preaence of mind aaved hia life; he enlled oat, 
in a load voice, aa if ordering hia men lo chaige, 
- fourth squadfon.advancel" The enemy droMied a 
aurpriae, and galloped back to their oooaradea. 

Komer paat the night in the wood, and, doaptte the 
pain of hia woood, hia burning thirat, and atior ex- 
haoation of bodily aCrength, ancceeded in framing the 
heaatifal aonnet, of which the following ia • tnnda* 



FAREWELL TO UFE. 

My deep wornid boma— my pale lipa qiiak« ia daoih ; 
I fcal my fainting heart reaign ill atrile. 
And rea«hmg now the limit of my life. 

Lord, to thy will I yield my parting biaath! 

Tet many a dream hath charm'd my yoathfol af« : 
And moat life*a fairy viaiona all depart f 
Oh, anraly no ! lor all that flrad my haorC 

To rapture here, ahall live with me on high. 

And that fair Ibrm that won my aorlieat vow. 
That my yoong apirit priiad all aba above. 
And DOW adored aa freedom, now aa lora, 

Scanda in aerapbic gaim before ma now; 

And M my fading aa n aaa fade away. 

It backooB ma, on high, to raalma of andlam day! 

Komer, for aomo time, had bean oppreaaed with aha- 
dows of impending ill and atrange preaentimmita of ! 
early death. When he doaed hia eyea in the dark aoli> 
tadea of the wood, he expected to awake no more ; the 
numbers of poeay cheered him aa he lay, and the Unaa 
of the above aonnet were ao firmly impreaaed npon hia 
mind that he repeated them to the peaaanta who diaoo- 
vered him ia the early moming. Theae men, who bd- 
longed to the province, had been bribed byaoBBOof the 
fugitive cavalry to aearch the wood lor a wounded 
oflicer ; they conducted him, weak from the loaa of blood 
to the neighboring village of Grota Zschocher, and 
a< curely aecreted him. although the enemiea* troopa 
were quartered there, and a atrict aearch w*aa made 
by their cavalry for the missing adjutant, who waa 
known to have a large sum ol money, belonging to 
the Luiz'>w troopa, concealed upon hia person. 

His wounds, well tended by a country surgeon, 
began to heal, and he endeavored to return to his 
friends at Leipzig, but the city waa occupied by the 
French, and the eoncealroent of any number of the 
proscriued band of the Lutanw corpa was forbidden 
under pain of death. But Komer, aided by warm- 
hearted and cool-headed frienda, waa carried aafely 
into Leipzig, and comfortably provided till he waa 
suflicienily recovered to rejoin hia corps. Aller a 
perilouM travel through a country entirely occupied by 
ihe enemies' troopa, and annoyed by the pain of his 
wound, which br<»ke out afreah daring hia journey, he 
aucceeded in joining hia friends 

On the right bank of the Elbe, above Hamburg, 
Korner loiind ihe Lutaow Iree corpa, aa part of Gene- 
ral von Watmoden*s army opposed to Davouat, who 
occupied Uiimburg with considerable force. On the 
seventeenth of August the armistice c«fOvluded ; mud 
Korner celebrated the re-commencement of boaiiUuei 



POETS AND THEIR POETRY. 



123 



hf bif oelebrated tong. called *«Men aod Boys," 
wUch ii DOW coiuidereii one of the natiooal longfl of 
GerviDjr. We ofler a iaithfal and spirited trantlalioD 
«f ihii itimng lyric. 

WAR SONG. 

Hm nalioiif arife. and the itonn is near ; 

Wbtrs ii the oowaid who tiembles with fear f 

Unm then the wretch who would ahrink fitMn hb 
vow, 

Who woald linger affrighted, and hide himfelf now f 
tboo art a baee and a piiifal wight ! — 
No German amid ihall thy love reqvite, 
Nor ihall oiler the cap, nor the kiao of delight : 
Boi ahe will apnm aoch a wreteh from her eight ! 

WhcQ we. at tho dark and the midnight hoar. 
An awake, and abroad in the atormandthe 
Guat thoa be eootented, in timea like theaa, 
Ibttetch thy haae limba upon ooachea of eaaej 
O thoa art, Ac 

WkflD thecall of the trampet oar aara hath riven, 
Aod pieroed throagh oor aoola like the thnndeia of 

heaTon— 
Curt ihoo at the ball and the theatre throng. 
Aid delight thy baae apirit with dance and with aongf 
O thoo art, dlEc. 

Whm the heat of the day hath oar atrength beiefl. 
And we scarce have a drop of cold water left- 
doit thou at the feaat and the banquet recline, 
Aod qoaff of thy Ibe'a the Frenchman's wine? 
O thoa art, ^. 

Wben we, in the preas of the deadly fight. 
Hits breathed oar last prayer for oar souVs delight — 
Cimt thou he contented to parchase with gold 
Tbs carew of a wanton, ao hollow, ao cold 7 

O thoa art, d^ 

When balls are hissing and lances are ringing, 
And death in a thousand shapes is springing— 
Cum ihoo at the card-table practiae thy skill, 
Mighted to capCHre— the king with spadille ? 
O thou art, dkc 

And when in the conflict we yieW our breath, 
Afid welromeoar fate— a soldier's death, 
THmi iBiiy'si hide thee away in thy silken vest. 
With all the despair of a cowaid oppreet! 

For a coward's life and death are thine — 

NoRfrman maid for thee shall pioe— 

No German song thy praise aasign. 

Nnrcap be filled for ihee with wine, 

Whtt hast fled from thy post in ttie patriot line. 

The shove aong, with other produciiooa of Korni^r. 
"* been set to moaic by the immortal Weber; boi n 
*tt originally adapted by the author tf> one of ihr 
popular oelodiea uf the country, the ample yet nervous 



melody of which reached the hearts of the buld war- 
riora to whom his souUmoving words were addressed. 
He devoted the chief part of his leisure to the pniduc- 
tton of these martial effusions; he also coilecied the 
poems of other writers thai he deemed worihy the 
notice of German warriors, and employed himaelf in 
procuring suitable melodies for them. His exertiona 
were appreciated by a people ever alive to genial ex- 
citement, and his comrsdes and superiors knew that 
he Ibttght not the worse for his poetical iadolgen- 
ciea. 

The free corpaaoon came into operation; and Komar 
wrote hie last On the morning of the twenty-sixth 
of Augnat, he pencilled hia celebrated ** Song of the 
Sword,** on some blank leaves in hia pocket book, and 
waa reading them lo his comrades when the aignal ibr 
attack waa made In a akirmiah with a Ibraging party 
belonging to the French, on the high road froaa Schwe- 
rin to Gadebuach, abuat half a mile from Roaenburg, 
he received a bail from a flying liralleor. The bullet 
passed through the horse's neck, entered his abdomen, 
woaiided the liver and spine and immediately de> 
prived him of life. Hia frienda raiaed him op, and 
earned him off despite the continued fire of the rally- 
ing enemy. It was ihas that the warrior poet met the 
death he had ao often antidpaied, and dwelt on with 
ao much enibusiasm. 

He wse buried with all the hooora of war, beneath 
an oak of high and beauteoua growth, near the village 
of Wobbelin. His deeply aflected brethren in arma 
dag hia grave beneath the hanging branches of thi% 
bis iavOTire tree, and carved his name upon its stem. 
The oak, with forty -eight square roods of the aurroand- 
ing ground, waa afterwards presented by the duke of 
Mecklenburg Schweren to the father of Komer. with 
suflScient stone and chalk for the erection of an enclo- 
Ming wall, and when the ei pulsion of the French 
ensured the safety of ihe lombs of German warrittrs, 
an iron monuiDeni, from a design by Thurmeyer. the 
iUBSier of Ihe Dresden work*, was delivered from the 
Riiyal Foundry ai Berlin. The sides of this national 
loken are graced with appropriate inscnpiions ; the 
lyre and thi* sword repmie upon the front of the altar, 
nnd the luUeMriiig appusiie qai»lalion from his own 
IKiemof "Our Faiherlaiid," stauda coovpicuous upon 
•»iie of ihe squares. 

Fatherland! we'll die for ihee! 

Thine we iuve ehali lell our story, 
Thoee our deaih^ Khali render free ; 
ind Ihe troe of thy freediHn immortal shall bloom, 
l£vea though its young branches shall wave o'er oar 
tomb. 

Thus at the early age of iwenty4wo. fell Carl The- 
•Mlor Korner, the a<;coinplished scholar, the devoted 
patnot, the gallsnt soldier, aod the minstrel chieC 
HiR memory dwells in the hearta of his countrymen, 
A ho ven<^raie his worih.and name him as their patriot 
laint One of his comrades, who committed his body 
M the earth, being placed iu a dangerous post in battle 
« f«*w days after, ru-ihed madly upon the enemy aa he 
uttered the words, ** Korner, 1 follow thee!" and died. 



124 



THB OBNTLBMAN's MAGAZINE. 



with many t^^onnda. Hii name wm Von Barenhont ; 
and another, more known to fame, the noble Friesen. 
v,ho aMirted to bring the body of Komer from the 
place where he received his death- wound, died within 
tiz months in a similar way. 

The poetry of Korner Undoubtedly is framed in 
imitation of ihe style of the man who first inspired 
him with Parnassian love— Schiller. His poems of a 
martial character are commonly most diatmguished; 
fhey all breathe a high spirit of heroism, a strong hatred 
of tyranny and oppression, and a deep sympathy for 
ike afflictions of his suffering country. His miscella- 
neous pieces will also be found to exhibit some of the 
most admired graces of refined and elegant poetry. 
His few prose tales are very beautiful compositions, 
and induce us only to regret that he has left no more 
examples of this delightful style of writing. But his 
dramas are considered his highest eflforts, and these 
display, in the most striking manner, the power and 
fertility of his mind. He appears to have essayed every 
species of dramatic composition— to have attempted 
fcrce, opera, comedy, and tragedy, and to have suc- 
ceeded alike in all. In comedy, hU pioducUons were 
exceedingly admired, and he was considered by dis- 
tinguished critics to possess that genuine via comica, 
which is the basis of all dramatic efforts of this kmd 



whfle in tragedy, the merila of hia piecea iniured him 
the most subvtantia! emoluments, and the most flatten 
ing hoDOTi ; and he was rewarded at once with Hi* 
approbation of the public, the patronage of (he court, 
and the favorable opinion of the moat distinguished 
writers and critics. 

His collected works consist of four considerable 
volumes, varying in their degrees of interest and at- 
traction, according to the nature of their subject ; bat, 
allowing for the imperfections necessarily incident lo 
youthful efforui, all bearing the impress of high poetic 
genius. And when we refieet on the vartous stodifli, 
avocations, and purauils of the author, and cowidar 
that in addition to his academical career he also die- 
charged the duties of a military lift? and that kfa 
various attainments were acquired, and he hisaself 
snatched away at the early age of twenty-two, we 
cannot refiise our highest admiration of an imtnee 
of early genius, which is probably unrivalled, and 
certainly unsurpasseS in the annala of litefary dS»' 
tinction. 

Reader, we find that it is impossible to oondnde 
our notice of the writings of Korner in this number, 
and must tiicrefere postpone Ihe remainder of am 
critical remukt and extracts till wa meet agaiflu 

w. B. a 



1 HEAR THEM TELL OF MELODY 



BT k, T. LBK, HA»»iaBUKG, FINN. 



I BCAK them tell of melody— • 

The music of the trembling string. 
That fills the soul with ecstacy. 

And gives the lenging spirit wing 
To soar beyond its mortal Jiome, 

And revel in those realms afar, 
Where silent fancy loves to roam, 

When evening lights her vesper star ; 
Of harp's that breathe the sweetest tone 

By morUl hand untouch'd — alone ; 
Of lips and strings that own the power 

To light the spirits darkest hour ;— 
I hear them tell of tears that fall 

Upon the chords of mournful strain, 
Whilst breathing forth Uie songs that call 

The days of childhood baek again ;-— ^ 
But net for me the ringing lute, 

1^ turn the tbeoght eo^vanish'dl yeen; 
» «• atoek iMd lip are n«ti» 



Then comes a melody for teart; 

It breathes along the lakes dim shore- 
It comes from out the breaking wave— 

'Tis warbled when the daylight's o'er, 
From mountain crag, and cliff, and cave ; 

'Tis nature's song — I hear it now. 
Binding the past around my brow ; — 

What voice is this so sad and low t 
I know but one could wake sueh strain, 

And she was buried long ago- 
Life cannot move those lips again. 

Oh, 'tis the power that music hath 
To rend the airy veil apart, 

That hangs across life's trodden path. 
And wave the past back on the heart;— 

It wakens saitles— it wakens te a i a ■ 

It bnists the tonb of buried y eai e 

Ic stin up feeliiifi^ undefined, OqIc 

▲Bd.MAhM a iihMi^m fif llMr ilM^O 



HORR>BLB ACCOUNT OF THE PLAGUE. 



125 



HORRIBLE ACCOUNT OF THE PLAGUE AT MALTA, IN 181»- 



KYX WITNESS. 



God of the just nnd g^aardian of the fvec, 
Wbtt Bcenet arue on my aBguisbed memory. 



Hating been in Malta in the year 1813, daring 
the pre?aleDCe of the plague in that island, and hav- 
iag seen no description of ita ravage tince my arrival 
io this country, I am indoced to give a brief account 
«f in appearance, progresa, and termination. 

About the beginning of May, 1813, a rumor waa 
pffopagated tbs< the ptegue had made iu appearance 
ia the oify of IjS Valette, the capital of Malta. Thia 
lepeit was treated with ridicule by the Maltese Ikcul* 
If, and wifh inerriment by the populace. However, 
in a lew daya, symptoma of sickneas exhibited them- 
BBtves in {be bonae of a person who had recently 
lee^ved some leather from tbe Levant. This man's 
child was taken ill, and died suddenly. His wife 
ihared the aane firte; and, after being carried to the 
quaramine hoapital, or lazaretto, be too fell a sacrifice 
to tbe unknown disease. The dissolution of this 
ftimly crested for some time an alarm, which waver- 
ed between hope and fear, till all at once the pestilence 
burst forth in varxous parts of the town. Amusements 
iuslantly ceased, and places of public worship were 
Aut up; for it waa confidently asserted, that infected 
perwns havfaoig gone thither, communicated the evil 
to the multitude, and thereby coadoced to iu general 
difcioo. 

The unuaual beat of tbe sun at this time, joined 
with the want of sea breezes, rendered La Valette so 
iniDlerably dimgreeable, that many of the bigher 
eiders suddenly departed into the interior of the 
iriand; but, notwithstanding all their precautions, 
fiiey carried the plague along wiih them. Tn the 
early stages of ita progress, tiie victims of this disease 
Kogerad about a week before they expired ; but now 
it became aa virulent, that a roan fell lifeless in the 
■treat. People observed him stsgger, reel round, and 
sink in convulsions, but none would venture near 
him ; life was dear to all, and there was no power to 
compel them. Persuasion was used in vain, for it 
was immediately retorted, " go yourself r One might 
as well ask them to raise a lion from his slumber, as 
10 bear tbe victim to bis grave. 

Prohibitory orders were now issued, forbidding all 
persons to appear in the streets, with the exception of 
those who had passports from the governor or the 
board of health ; the consequence of this necessary 
precaution seemed te be, that the disease abated con- 
siderably, and very nearly ceased to exist. But while 
the rigor of the quarantine was relaxing, and the in- 
tercourse of business renewing, the plague suddenly 
reappeared. This was owing to the reprehensible ^ 

VOL. III. F 



avarice of mercenary individuaU, who had been env^ 
ployed to burn the furniture, clothes, dec. belonging 
to infected houses, but who, instead of effectually 
performing their duty, had secreted some articles of 
value and some wearing apparel, which they now 
sold (o needy people, who, ignorant of the consequencer 
strutted in the splendid garb of pestilence to a name- 
less grave. 

The plaguo now raged with accumulated horrors^ 
and tbe lazaretto being insufficient to contain one 
half of the sick who were daily crowding in, tempo-- 
rary hospitals were, at a very great expense, ereeted 
outside of the town ; indeed, no expense waa spared 
to overcome the evil ; but tbe manifest incapacity of 
the native doctors, or rather quacks, was worthy of 
their cowardice. They were wofully deficient in 
anatomy, and never had any distinct idea of symptenu 
cause, or effect. Their knowledge extended no far> 
ther than common place medicine and herbs, to the 
use and application of which old women in all conn* 
tries have equal pretension?. These unfeeling quacks 
could never be prevailed upon to approach wiihin 
three yards of any patient whom they visited. Thejr 
carried an opera glass, with whi6h they examined the 
diseased person in a hurried manner, being alwaye 
ready to make their escape if any one approached 
near enough to touch them. I witnessed a Indicrooa 
proof of their selfish terror while the plague 'was un> 
der the same roof with myself While a quack vras 
looking in the above manner at the attendant upon 
the person affected, and inquiring how be felt,dto.»- 
the sick man walked up to the quack and exhibited- 
the part affected. The charlatan, not being aware of 
this, felt so confounded on perceiving him near, that 
In his anxiety to gain the door he actually pushed 
the infected roan frem him, and hurried away : but 
this person got better. It is but justice to except from 
this character of the Maltese faculty one gentleman* 
who having travelled on the continent of Europe, had 
made himself roaster of the various branches of his 
profession ; but Tam sorry to say he fell a sacrifice to 
his humanity in behalf of his countrymen. 

About the middle of summer the plague became so 
deadly, that the number of its victims increased to an 
alarming degree, from 70 to 75 daily. The number 
falling sick was equal, indeed greater.- such vras 
the printed report of the board of health; but 
the real extent of the calamity was not known, for 
people had such dreadful apprehensions of the plague 
hospitals (whither every person was carried, along 



^llh the sick, from the infected houBcs,) that they 
aatually denied the existence of the diseaae in their 
iamiliei, and buried itp victima in the house or gar- 
dcD. These were horrible momenls ! Other miseries 
of mankind bear no parallel to the calamities of the 
plague. The sympathy which the relatives feel for 
the wounded and the dying in battle, is but the shade 
of that heart rending 4iffliction inspired by the ravages 
of pestilence. In the iirst, the scene is far removed ; 
and even were it present to the view, the comparison 
Ades. Conceive in the same bouse the beholder, the 
•sickening, and the dying ; to help is dreadful ! and to 
refuse assistance is unnatural ! ft is like the ship- 
wrecked mariner trying to rescue his drowning com- 
panion, and sinking -with him into the same oblivious 
Srave. 

Indeed, the better feelings of the heart were 
quenched by this appaling evil ; and the natives who 
Tentured to remove the sick and the dead, shared iheir 
fate in such numbers, that great apprehensions wore 
•entertained lest, in a short time, none would be found 
to perform this melancholy office ; but 

Grecians came, a death determined band. 
Hell in their face, and horror in their hand! 

These daring and ferocious Greeks, clad in oiled 
leather, volunteered their services effectually, but 
their number were so small that recourse was had to 
the prisoners of war for assistance. With a handsome 
reward, and the promise of gaining their liberty at 
the expiration of the plague, the French and Italian 
prisoners swept the streets, and cleaned and white- 
• washed the infected houses, burning their furni- 
tare, &c. 

The ignorance of the native faculty was now as- 
sisted by the arrival of reputed plague doctors from 
Smyrna. These treated the malady with unbecoming 
^contempt ; they related the vehemence of pestilence 
in their country, where it was nothing unusual, when 
the morning arose, to find from one to three or four 
hundred persons in the streets and fields, stretched in 
the dewy air of death ! that the promptitude of the 
people was commensurate with the evil, for wherever 
n corpse was found, two men unbound their sashes, 
rolled them round the head and feet of the body, and 
hurried with it to the grave. However, they seemed 
to have left their knowledge at home, for though 
their indiflTerence was astonishing, and their intre- 
pidity was most praiseworthy, entering the most vile 
and forbidding places, handling the sick, the dying, 
and the dead, the nature of this disease completely 
baflfled their exertions and defied their skill. 

The casals or villages of Birchircarra, Zebbuge, and 
Gurmi suflfcred lamentably; the last most severely on 
account of itp moist situation. The work of death 
was familiar to all, and black covered vehUle?, to 
which the number of victims made it necessary to 
have recourse, rendered the evil still more ghastly. 
Large pits had been previously scooped out, and 
thither the dead were conveyed at night, and tumbled 
in from these vehicles, in the same manner as in this 
.country rubbish is thrown from the carts. The 



silence of day was not less dreary than the dark 
parade of night. That silence was now and then 
broken by the dismal cry for the '* dead," as the un- 
hallowed bier passed along the streets, preceded and 
followed by the guards. The miseries of disease con- 
tributed to bring on the horrors of famine. The island 
is very populous, and cannot support itself. Trade 
was at a stand ; the bays were forsaken ; and strangers 
appearing ofif the harbor, on perceiving the yellow 
flag of quarantine, paused awhile, and raised our ex- 
pectations only to depress our feelings more bitterly 
by their departure. 

Sicily is the parent granary of Malta, but though 
the Sicilians had provisions on board their boats ready 
to come over, on hearing of the ^ plague they absolute- 
ly refused to put to sea. The British commodore in 
Syracuse was not to be trifled with in this manner* 
and left it to their choice, either to go to Maltai or to 
the bottom of the deep. They preferred the formert 
but, on their arrival at home, neither solicitation nor 
threat could induce their return. In this forlorn state 
the Moors generously ofifered their services, and sap- 
plied the isle with, provisions, which were publicly 
distributed; but the extreme insolence and brutality 
of the creatures employed in that oflice, verf often 
tended to make the hungry loathe that food whieh» a 
moment before, they craved to eat. 

In the autumn the plague unexpectedly declined, and 
business began partly to revive. But every face be- 
trayed a misgiving, lest it should return as formerly. 
People felt as sailors do on the sudden cessation of a 
storm, when the wind changes to the opposite point 
of the compass, only to blow with redoubled fury. 
Their conjecture was too well founded ; the plague 
returned a third time, from a more melancholy cause 
than formerly. Two men, who must have known 
themselves to be infected, sold bread in the streets ; 
the poor starving inhabitants bought it, and caught 
the infection. One of these scoundrels fell a victim 
to the disease ; the other fled, but his career was 
short, the quarantine guard shot him in his endeavoi 
to escape. This guard was composed of natives, who 
paraded the streets, having power to take up any 
person found abroad without a passport Fancy may 
conjure up a thousand horrors, but there is one scene, 
which, when imagination keeps within the verge of 
probability, it will not be easy to surpass. About 
three hundred of the convalescent were conveyed to 
a temporary lazaretto, or ruinous building, in the 
vicinity of Fort Angelo; thither some more were 
taken afterwards, but it was like touching gunpowdex 
with lightning, — infection spread from the last, and 
such a scene ensued " as even the imagination feara 
to trace." The catastrophe of the Black hole at Cal- 
cutta bears no comparison to this; there it was suflRi- 
cation, hero it was the blasting breath of pestilence! 
the living, the dying, and tho dead huddled together 
in one putrescent grave! Curses, prayers, and de- 
lirium mingled in one groan of hoiror, till the shud- 
dering hand of death hushed the agonies of nature. 

A singular calamity befel one of the holy brother- 
hood: his maid-servant having gone to drew some 
water, did not return ; the priest felt uneasy at her 



I LOVE THE S E A. 



i;64 



loog abience, and calling her in vain, went to tha 
<draw-weU in qoeet of her — ehb was drowned ! He 
laid hcdd of the hope with the intention of rainng 
faer, and in that act wai found, standing in the calm 
cerenity of death. 

. The plague usually attacked the sufferer with gid- 
dinea and want of appetite ; apathy ensued ; an 
abaceaa formed under each arm-pit, and one on the 
f[roin. It was the practice to dissipate these ; and if 
-that could be done the patient survived, if not, (he 
ahaoesB grew of a livid color, and suppurated ; then 
was the critical moment of life or dissolution. 

The rains or December and the cold breezep of 
January dispelled the remains of the plague in La 
Valette— but it existed for some months longer in the 
▼illagee. The disease, which was supposed to have 
originated from putrid vegetables and other matters, 
peculiarly affected the natives. There were only 
twelve deaths of British residents during its existence 
in the island ; and these deaths were ascertained to 
have followed from other and indubitable causes. 
Cleanliness vras found to be the best preventive 
against the power of the disease, the ravages of which 
ivere greater in the abodes of poverty and wretched- 



ness. Every precaution was wisely taken by th« 
ibrraer and by the present governor. The soldien^ 
were every morning lightly mdistened with oil, which 
produced a const ant exhalation from the heat of their 
bodies, and thereby prevented the-possibility of ibm 
contagion affecting them. Tobacco was profusedl^ 
smoked and burnt in the dwellings of the inhabitant!^ 
who, during the prolonged quarantine, feit very ub- 
easy to resume business. They boguiied their eveA* 
ingi by walking on the terraces on the tops of tla» 
houses, they beuig all. or principally flat When th» 
quarantine ceased, they hastened eagerly to learn thoi 
fate of their friends, in the same manner as sailoai 
hurry below after battle, to see how many of their 
messmates have survived to share in the dream oT 
glory. 

Before leaving Malta, T had the melancholy nikt- 
faction of standing on the ruins of the plague-hospita^ 
which had been burnt to ashes— that place where sot 
many hopes and fears were hushed to rest ; it gav* 
rise to dismal reflections. 

May none of my readers ever behold the miseries 
of the plague, or endure the lingering tantaliiatioQ oC 
the quarantine. M. T. 



I LOVE THE SEA, 



BT MISS OATHARXNK H. WATERMAN. 



I LOVE the sea. 

The blue, the free. 
The roar of its mighty minstrelsy ; 

The foam of its waves. 

That madly raves. 
Is the dearest sight my bosom craves. 

With theei my bark, 

0*er the waters dark, 
With the summer moon our course to mark ; 

How proud we ride. 

O'er the dancing tide, 
While the white foam laves thy heaving side. 

We cut our vray 

Thro' the shining spray,' 
While the crowding billows round us lay; 

And our shouts of glee. 

Rung wild and free, 
On the mighty waste of the boandless sea. 



TThe mariner's dirge 

Is thy sounding suif e, 
As it rings his knell on the grave's dark Teiftt 

And his last, long sleep, 

In the quiet deep. 
Is as calm as when willows o'er him sweep. 

I love the sea. 

The blue, the free, 
And the roar of its mighty minstrelsy ; 

Where the wild waves roam, 

In their caps of foam. 
The mariner finds his chosen home. 

Then spread thy wing, 

Thou bounding thing, 
And far o'er the waves like a sea-gull spring; 

Oar trust's on high. 

In the smiling sky,^^ ^^ LjOOQIc 
And we rove 'neath the light of a watchfQr ^T^ 



128 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



HENRY PULTENEY: 

OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A WANDERER. 



BT WILLIAM LANDOR, FINN. 



(ContiniMd from Pace 53.) 



CHAPTER XVI. 



The juTiog eoune of mortal lift 
Henunds us ofthe runners strife : 
And where the stream in pools deiars, 
Hf e Ind the peace that soothes oux days. 



For like the «axev*s tnmasent 4 
This Miss is but an hour-brief balm ; 
BoOi soon are ransed by fltteH fell ibree. 
To take their onward, downward ooone. 



Jj#«r. 



Wbkn I had ittfficientljT recovered to be fully con- 
scious of the deep reality of the ecenei which had 
MCODtly paMed, and to acao the conaeqaencea which, 
vnleai aome providential power intervened, moat in- 
evitably flow from them, there atruok through my 
•pirit a throb of anguiab, whoae aching keenneaa 
almoat deprive me of aenae. Aa I lay in the help- 
liiMneaa of diaeaae, and felt the conaumiog heat of 
f«f er rave through my veina, and remembered that 
-while I lingered in powerleai repoae, and the boon 
slid paat me in my proatrate inactivity, the evil which 
I abhorred waa faat haatening to be irremediable, and 
not an effort waa in action to arreat the miachief 
-svbile interference might yet be aucceaefu], the bit- 
temeaa of aelf-reproach waa added to the aharpneaa 
. laf regret, and the wildneaa of impotent anxiety almoat 
tortored me to madneae. Often aa I roused the energy 
mf naaoD and beat away the dark diatorbance which 
I knew to be vain, and which I felt, if indulged, 
-wonM hunt my life into aomeihing worae than death, 
ihe thought would return upon me and ating my aoul 
to the deptha of ita feeling. I at length called for 
ana of the^opiatea to which man takea refuge when 
ho would be hidden ftom the terroia of himaelf, and 
^ vnmld caat a pillar of doud betweeiL memory and 
Jeeling. For the natural current of our being con- 
Mnually acta to madneaa, and if our thoughta be not 
aiverted by thinga, and our feelinga diluted by exter- 
nal intereata, our apirita would whirl themaelvea into 
fury. Place a man in the atiUnen of aolitudo and 
drive iiomhiaaeat the angel of aleep, and Cheglorioua 
creature will waate to death, or fret to wild diatrao- 
lion. 

J alept long and deeply, and awoke calmed 
strengthened, and refreshed. I had maatered and 
poaacaaed the strength of the thpughla that before 
were rent and ravelled, and flying all abroad. The 



irritation and the agony had pataed away ; I looked 
out with eameatnea, but not with uncontrol, apon 
the courae which waa before me. I had a great 
work to perform ; and my powera felt concentrated 
and quickened aa I contemplated it. I ielt within 
me the ability and diapoaition to battle agauwt the 
calamity which impended over me, and I hoped to 
batde Bucceiafully ; I felt alao the greater atrength to 
wait in patience till die hour of exertion had arrived. 
Slowly the violence of fever pasaed away, and con- 
valeacence began to fit me for eflfort. At the first 
moment in which my feeblenesa permitted me to 
leave my couch, I roae an4 began to make my pre- 
paaationa for aetling out in purauit of the man who 
had robbed me of the only treasure that I valued 
upon earth, and planted in my breaat the featering 
thorDof vain remoite. The keen purauer waa changed 
to the triumphant fugitive, and he who had long reat- 
ed in peacefulneaa and joy, waa transformed into a 
victim and an avenger. There aroae in my mind, 
however, no feeling of hate, like that which had-been 
the focna of all the paaaiona of Harford ; anxiety to 
prevent the miachief which waa in progreaa filled all 
my thoughta, and left no room for revenge. Ths 
memory of the actor waa forgotten in the engroaaiBg 
intereat of the act ; yet 1 felt that if all my hopea and 
exertiona in that matter were crushed and diaappoint- 
ed, and the evil was oonaummated beyond the remedy 
of arreat or reveraal, there would be but one thing 
left to live for. 

In a few daya I began my Journey to Bafla, the 
port which Harford had indicated aa the place fiom 
which he ahould embark. I atill felt very weak, and 
rapid motion produced a dinineas in my head ; but 
my impatience would not permit me to tarry longer 
in inertion, and I hoped that Uie fireahneas of the air 
and the change of proapect might contribute to the 
reatitution of my health. My honea were accordingly 
brooght to the door, and my aervant announced that 
every thing waa ready. Before I deacended to turn 
my back upon a apot wherein ao many memoriea were 
garnered, I flung open the window of the chamber to 
take a aiogle look at the grounda which were endea^ 
ed to me ao deeply. The landaqape waa lying in its 
calm, and pure, and healthful beauty. In the clear, 
fresh waving of the branches, as the morning breeze 
fluttered thair vigor, there seemed a|i exultation and 



HBWBT PULTENBT 



13ii 



a joy. Strangtb, and life, and lovalmeiti wera apoo 

aH the iaram that ware iparkling in the gladneM of 

iba MUi-iayB. But the fMctnre waa to me like the 

of wNne anterior paradiaal eziitenoe, 

, , . * -^ *« the dinmeiB of the past ; 

that lay ceniiine. J5?u _ ^^^ j ^^ ^^ 

agei leemed to have come and gose ft*^- • .4 

looked upon it When the events of a Weeii !}«>'' • 

fliinf my feelingi into a new and separate sphere, 

there to abide forever, my nature seemed to have cut 

kose fiom all that had gone before. The objects 

before my eyes now recalled sentiments and incidents 

' which perhaps the workings of my own bosom would 
never have withdrawn from oblivion. There was 
the silver brook with whose plaintive chaunt the 
voice of Helena had so often mingled, and upon which 
it still seemed to float ; there were the varied shapes 
of the trees to whose outline and form the richness of 
her fancy had given an eternal significance; and 
tfiere were the daisy-tuAed knolls and floweiy seats 
whereon we had so often sat, and painted immortal 
hopea npon the sky. I cast a long memorizing glance 
over the scene, and gave one look to the spot where 
the moral of the drama was marked in marble, and 
then closed the wmdow and left the apartment. 

Attended by a single servant I set forth for the 
weetem eoaat of Cyprus. After riding a little distance 
along the beach, I stmck towards the interior ibr the 
porpoae offiOling into the great road which ran from 
Nicosia to Bafliu It was about noon that as I joar- 
neyed on under the heat vnth dull and dreary pace, 
I came suddenly upon an antique elm, which flung 
arch-wise over the road its gigantic branches, that 
were furred with the twigs and fibres of centuries 

' of years. I had a dim impression of familiarity with 
the ibrm of that old tree, and as I paused under its 
ehade to recover my recollections of the spot, it flash- 
ed upon me that I was following the same route over 
which I bad once passed in the rapture of health and 
fladneas, when I bore my bride to her home. The 
free, atem tramp of roy courser as he flew along in 
the pride of his power, and the wild laugh of the 
lovers, which ever and anon leapt from bosoms that 
were charged with the fulness of youth and joy, seem- 
ed yet to live upon the breeze. 



Mf eyes were dim with childish tears. 

My heart was idly stirr*d, 
For the same sound was in my ears 

WUch in those days I heard. 

Could the roan who then passed by in the tide-like 
strength of his victorious hopes, and seemed dowered 
with that adamantine power of spirit which might 
have defied the tempest and done battle with the 
stona, be the same peiioa who now crawfed along 
his deoolata way, smitten with anguish and blasted 
/hf deipair f He whose excess of fervor might have 
suited the drooping efiorts of an army, was standing 
in the harrenness of desolation with none to comfort 
him. Tea ! there was one joy yet abidiog*-one re* 
atoring germ of a thonmnd joys; and in the fbrgetfu^ 
nem of Aeling I raised my arm towards my breast to 



bind closer to my boeom the boy that seemed to iit 

before me. Ah ! as the void was forced upon mf 

sight, aad the agony of truth rushed upon my memory^ 

what a cry of anguieh wia wrung from my soul ! t 

plunged the spurs into my hoiie, and dashed onward 

fvom the scene that was so ftill of bitterness. 

Oq the afternoon of the third day, after a wearying 

., »—nh.«.*'"*'^'*®f5afla. I made immediaiA 
ride, . :!Hichea u.c , ..^ ^^^ 

inquiries in the nai'i?; •• ^ "^^^ v«^- -- ^^ 
from there since the period of .?«ford's having dia- 
appeared. None had left for any Eut0pti2 J»'* «- 
cepting Constantinople ; one had set out recently tow 
that port, but the time did not correspond with that 
which the limitations of my inquiry prescribed. 
While I was makuig these investigations, a peaman 
came up, who said that a vessel had been seen about 
a fortnight before anchored in the oflSng, which, how- 
ever, did not enter the port. It remained there seve- ' 
ral hours, and a boat put oflf to it from the neighbor- 
ing shore; after which the vessel set sail. Upon 
fiuther questioning, it appeared that the day on which 
ihese occurrences took place was precltoly the day 
after that on which Henry had been carried away. 
A single day's ride would have been amply sufllcient 
for the horse on which they were mounted to accom.«^ 
pliih the journey which had employed me three. I 
could learn nothing as to the persons who had gon« 
in the small boat ; no one, it appeared, had seen what 
company it contained. It seemed most probable that 
those whom I sought had been its passengers. The 
opinion which all entertained was, that the vessel was 
a pirate, and belonging te a gang who infested that 
part of the Mediterranean, and were supposed to 
have their head-quarters in tlie island of St. Cathe- . 
rine, near to Rhodes-— a rocky and thinly inhabited 
spot, lyhich was admirably fitted for such a purpose, 
and had repeatedly served for it in former times. 

This intelligence gave me great concern, and seem- 
ed almost to render ineffectual any efforts which I 
could command to pursue the fugitive. If, as seemed 
probable, Harford had hired this ship, or was con- 
nected in such a way with the piratical party as to 
have the cootrol of it, to perform a voyage to soma 
of the ports of Italy or .Fiance, it would be a vaia 
thing to attempt to discover his retreat It was, how- 
ever, possible that he had taken refuge in St. Cathe- 
rine ; and indeed the society of that place, wouki 
be thoroughly suited to accomplish that depra^emenl » 
and corruption of the boy which his demoniac malii^ 
nity had sworn to produce. The more I revolved 
this conjecture the more reasonable it appeared, audi 
r sedn made up my mind to set out at once for that 
island. By promptly reaching that place, there was 
held out at least a hope of disoovering Harford, whioia 
was a degree of encouragement that no other oouri« 
offered ; even if he were not there, I might learn to 
what port the vessel which received him had sailetf. 
I was told that a regular communication existed be- 
tween the Island of Rhodes and the town of Che- 
phali on the northern coast of Cyprus, and that at 
least one passage was made every month. If I could 
reach Rhodes, there would be no difiicolty in getting 
to St. Catherine, and I therefore determined to avail 



130 



THB GBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



jayidf of the facility that iwas thui aflbrded. I hired 
« earriage on the following morning and set off for 
llie north* When I arrived at Chephali, I learned 
ihat a packet would sail three days after for Rhodea. 
I engaged a birth on board of her, and wae not wrry 
to have a little time to reat from my fatigue before 
<embarking on what would probably be a loDg and 
difficull enterpriie. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



iU whence the ran ^pwi hit ftriting, 
ShipwTceknig^ Morms and direful tempest' come. 
So from that spot whence comfort aeemed to spring, 
]>iiCQmfoit ipnngi. 

Shakspearc, 



Yet where a ftiendly tone is (bandy 
So Bttbtly is the tense beg>uiled. 
It lees not nor suspects a bound. 
No more than in some forest wild ; 
Free as the bgfat in substance— erott 
Only by art iu nature kwt. 



WordneortfL 



'Whili I had been standing in the porch of the inn 
«t Baffii on the previous day, pondering what course 
it would be best for me to take after I had acquired 
the information which is given in the last chapter, 1 
observed a man leaning out of one of the windows, 
and looking at me for a considerable time with un- 
usual interest and earnestness. lie was a person of a 
dark countenance and unpleasant aspect, and the at- 
tention with which he regarded me was clearly not 
accidental or transitory ; the ezpressioh of his face 
'was that which might have been occasioned by the 
presence of one whom he had long been seeking, and 
-whom he had thus unexpectedly discovered,- and with 
Ihe surprise that was marked upon his features was 
mingled an air of rapid meditation, as if he were de- 
liating what steps he shonld pursue. I did not, for 
my own part, remember ever to have seen the man 
lieibre, yet his countenance was not one which even 
a distant and casual encounter was likely to forget. 
Finding that his scrutiny was continued longer than 
wmM altogether agreeable, I fixed my eyes upon him 
with a look which indicated that I deemed his con- 
duct impertinent and offensive, and he very shortly 
tamed away and disappeared from sight. A few 
hours after, when I was getting into the carriage to 
leave the city, I saw the same man look cautiously 
4>ut of the door, as if he were wishing to observe my 
movements without being seen himself. When I 
reached Chephali, and was standing at a little distance 
irom the inn, after having been out to secure my pass- 
age in the packet, two equipages drove up to the door 
along the same road by which I had come into the 
town. The steps of both were let down at the same 
time by the couriers, and from the hindmost one de- 
floended the very person whose demeanor had ex- 
cited my notice at Baffa. The moment he saw me, 
lie walked quickly to the carriage in front, and closing 



the door, said something to the peraon within, and 
then returned te the vehicle from which he had dis- 
mounted. The steps were rapidly put up again, and' 
the equipages drove off through another streeL TheM* 
was a certain mystery in thi|> anal? which did not 
please me. 

Tne day had been sultry and oppressive, and when, 
the sun passed behind a bar of clouds which stretch- 
ed across the west, and the invigorating breeze of the 
waters set towards the land with its reviving fresh- 
ness, I strolled out towards the sea, to taste the heal- 
ing that there is in the wings of the wave- born wind 
The spirit which rests like a vapor visibly upon the 
bosom of the waters is a .presence and a pervading, 
power ,* and the breath which it enhales is life, and 
love, and splendid strength. Nothing in nature ren- 
ders back to man the full and instant sympathy which 
is accorded by the mighty being who thus reposes 
mildly in the generous grandeur of his glorious power. 
We may love the fbrms of the trees, the colors of the 
sky, and the impressive vastness of the hills ; but we 
can never animate them with a soiil of life, and per- 
suade ourselves that they experience the feeling which 
they cause. But the sea, as its countenance showa 
its myriad mutations with the variety and rapidity of 
the passions which sport through the breast of man, 
seems truly to return the emotion which is breathed 
towards him ; and fellowship and friendship — ^yea, and 
personal affection — ^are the sentiments which his gam- 
bols rouse in the spectator's heart. The flashing smiles 
that sparkle in his eye— are they not his happy 
thoughts? — and the ripples that flit their scouring 
dance over his bieast — are they not feelings of delight' 
that agitate his frame ? Whether I am amid moun- 
tains, or on plains, there is not an hour in which my 
existence is net haunted by the remembrance of the 
ocean. It abides beside me like a thought of my 
mind ; — it occupies my total fancy ; — I ever seem to 
stand before it. And I know that whenever it shall 
fiire so ill with me in the world that comfort and con- 
solation can no longer be found in it, I have a para- 
dise beside the shelving beach who will give the con- 
solation man withholds. Since the mysterious yearn- 
ings of the boy bade him shed blind tears upon his 
mother's breast, never so fully as beneath this influ- 
ence have I wept away the anguish of that craving 
sensibility which makes existence one vague and end- 
less want. 

I had understood that a [person with whom I had 
been well acquamted in England, and whose society 
and conversation had always been interesting to me, 
was at this lime residing^n the sea-coast, in the im- 
mediate neighborhood of Chephali ; and, although T 
knew that he habitually courted solitude, and was 
rarely pleased by any effort of others to intrude upon^ 
his privacy, yet, as I was anxious to procure informa- 
tion upon certain points, which I thought he could 
give me more safely and faithfully than any other 
person, I resolved to violate the restraint which I 
should otherwise have prescribed for myself toward* 
such an individual, and pay him a visit Mr. Dnim- 
mond was a refined and copious scholar, imbued with 
the richest essence of others' thinking, although he 



HENRY PULTENBT. 



131 



had never edded any thing to the literature which he 
loved. A thooghtfttl and meditative temper had led 
him to malare concliuioiu upon all theaubjecti which 
came before him, though his mind wae not naturally 
of extraordinary force ^or fertility. Indeed, I have 
rarely ibqnd that any of that class of studenu, ex- 
tensive in England and Germany, who live to hive and 
not to spin, have been persons of unusual vigor of 
undMBtanding. Intellect feels that it has an errand 
to accomplish ; and the instincts of genius are stings 
that urge It to performance. He had never taken 
part in public duties, but had always been devoted to 
the teaehings of books. 

Far from the world he lived, and from all care: 
His whole life he had passed in pleasant thought, 
As if Iife*s bosiaess were a summer mood. 



It was agreeable to one whose days had been spent 
in action and the tumult of existence, to try conclu- 
sions with a manlvhose training had been so different. 
The experience of one state presented to the suscep- 
tibiliiies of another, makes palpable truths that neither 
could have struck out alone. 

A servant was standing upon the portico of the 
house, and to him I addressed myself. Mr. Drum- 
mond, he said, had gone out to ride, and would not 
return for an hour. I made an appointment to call 
for him on the next afternoon, and turned my steps 
homewards. I reached the hotel, and sat down in 
the drawing-room which belonged to the snite cf 
apartments which t occupied. In a little while, one 
of the servants came in to announce that an attendant 
of prince Menitzen was at the door, and was the 

' hearer of a communication from his master to myself, 
which he begged permission to present.^ Considera- 
bly surprised at this mission, which I doubted not had 
a hostile object, I desired the messenger to be instant- 
ly admitted. A well-looking and well-mannered man, 
in military dress, came in, and after a very courteous 
salutation, presented roe with a note, which he said 
that the prince, to whose service he was attached, had 
commanded him to deliver. He added that he would 
wait in the outer apartment until I had prepared what- 
ever answer I should return, and then retired. Prince 

. Menitzen, it will be remembered, was the person to 
an alliance with whom Helena had been destined by 
her brother, and whose hopes and efforts in that mat- 
ter I had so zuirrowly but totally struck down. I 
thought it certain, when this letter was put into my 
hands, that, having accidentally heard of my passing 
through that part of the country which I knew was 
near to his place of residence, he had determined to 
require of me that satisfaction which, poor as it ne- 
cessarily must be, was the only penalty which could 
either be rendered or deroofnded. Any circumstance 
which would thus call mo back* to scenes which, 
though they once gladdened my heart with a proud 
sense of triumph, in those days when " hope elevated 
and joy brightened my crest," now never occurred to 
my memory without awakening the anguish of a re- 
gret which had all the horror of remorse. It was a 



relief, as well as a surprise, to find a note of a tone so 
different as the following : 



" Prince Menitzen tenders his respectful salutations 
to Mr. Pulteney. He has no desire to recur to the 
events now two years past, except for the purpose of 
adverting to the fact that there then existed between 
himself and Mr. Pulteney a relation of opposition, and 
perhaps hostility. Of the recent deplorable eventr 
by which the-violenee of passion is for ever disarme^r 
and the sanctity of regret is thrown over a history^ 
that might else have awakened anger, prince Menit-^ 
zen is informed ; and. also of the intention ot'Mr. PaK 
teney to return to Europe. He is unwilling that • 
separation, which will probably be final, should take 
place while his position in reference to Mr. Pullenej- 
is so indistinct, unsatisfactory, and liable to misappre* 
hension. He is desirous of evincing that no unplea- 
sant feeling lingers in his bosom, and to remove from 
the minds of both parties whatever bitterness might 
be added to the contemplation of post scenes by the 
presence of animosity or irritation. He therefore so* 
licits the honor of Mr. Pulteney's company at his villa, 
to-morrow, to pass the day with him ; and he will call 
fbr him in his chariot, if he will be pleased to indr- 
cate to the bearer of this note what hour will be most 
agreeable to him. 

** Villa ADgelani, Taesday momiDg.** 

Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, was (he first ejacu- 
latioD which the perusal of this note called from the 
breast of one so well experienced in the deceitfolnesa 
and treachery of men as myself. There was a rhe- 
torical air about the language, too, which, coming from 
a man of whom my impressions were so little favor* 
able as of prince Menitzen, stirred an involuntary sua* 
picion and disgust. I read it again, however, and as 
I instinctively acknowledged the justice and natural 
force of the feelings it had reference to, I corrected 
my first opinion, and owned that I had wronged the 
noble writer. I had myself experienced extreme re- 
gret at the uncertain and unmanly attitude which 
either of us seemed to occupy towards the other, and 
great reluctance at the prospect of leaving the mat- 
ter in this doubtful and unterminated state. I confess^ 
however, it never occurred to me there was any other 
mode of arranging the difHcuIfy than by an appeal to 
arms, and the pain which any such recurrence to the 
circumstances and passions of past years would pro* 
duce necessarily in my mind, always prevented my 
entertaining the intention of employing (hat mode of 
settlement. I admitted at once the superior propriety 
and more honorable delicacy of that manner of meet- 
ing which the prince suggested, and throwing from 
my thoughts the unworthy apprehensions which had 
entered at first, I determined to accept the proposal 
with the same frankness and cordiality with which it 
was made. I therefore sat down and prepared a po- 
lite and friendly reply, assuring the prince of the 
pleasure and readiness with which I accepted his ia- 
vitation, and naming an hour of' the following morxK 
ing as the time which would be the most convenient 



132 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



to me. This I handed to the messenger, who pro- 
. miaed to place it in the hands of his master. 

When the landlord entered my room in the even- 
ing with the tea things— it being the eastern in all 
ptits of Cypriu for the keeper of the lodging-house 
to bring in the first waiter or dish with hia own hands 
•iuad to stand until hia guest has begun hia meal«— he 
otde aome observation about the visit which had 
iMea paid to me by the prinoe Menitsen'a aUacAe, who, 
he a^id, waa his private secretaryt. As I wished to 
know more than I did at that time about this person- 
age* I encouraged the landlord's communicative dia- 
poeiiion, and presently aaked him about the character 
wJiieh the prince bore in the neighborhood, as a per- 
oon of magnanimity and uprightness. 

** The prince," he replied, '* is eiceasively unpopu- 
lar in the village, and there are tales circulating very 
little to his credit. For my own part, I believe that 
he is a man of honor, and perhaps of virtue ; and I 
attribute the unfavorable reputation under which he 
enfibn to the inordinate pride of bearing, and repul- 
flive coldness of manner, which mark his intercourse 
uith the commons. lie is unapproachably frigid and 
scornful in his post, and seems to cheriih a vehemence 
of disdain for all mankind. I have not been long a 
jreaident in this part of the country, and am therefore 
not a very competent judge, but I imagine that the 
arritation caused by this conduct has created the en- 
tity which is very generally entertained towards him. 
There is at present a rumor of his having stolen and 
imprisoned in his castle the daughter of one of the 
^poorer inhabitants of the village, and the Qicitemont 
on the subject is considerable. The girl disappeared 
two days since, but as it is known that she spoke of 
her intending to follow her lover, who has removed 
to a distant part of Cyprus, 1 have no doubt that the 
suspicion entertained of the prince is wholly ground- 
less. He, however, is too contemptuous to exculpate 
himself from the charge, and values opinion too in- 
differently to take the trouble of correcting its injus- 
tice." 

The landlord's notion appeared to roe reasonable, 
for I have often had occasion to observe that no active 
show of hostility can stir that fury of resentment which 
is kindled by the passivenesa of calm and silent scorn. 
Prejudice on the part of the multitude against men 
of rank, always inclines me to take part with the lat- 
ter ; for the qualities which moet excite the jealousy of 
the mob are those high, uncompromising, unconcilia- 
ting virtues which are admirable to all but the selBsh 
And the servile. Unpopularity is the fate of the purely- 
principled at all times, and if they could but view it 
rightly, they would deem that their richest reward. 
The king who meets the block amid the envious rage 
of his subjects, may be sure that the dispalhy of his 
lonely excellence has excited that hatred ,- and the 
prelate who precedes him in the lists of martyrdom, 
may assign his ruin less to the " fatal parts" which 
'' mark him out," than to that infirmity of his nature 
which always obliged him to be obedient unto duty. 
The reports therefore to which the landlord alluded, 
gave me no other impression respecting him they re- 
lated to, than that he did not caress the herd i— whe- 



ther his avoidance of them proceeded Irom the virtue 
which repels, or from the vice which shrinks, there 
was nothing which, as yet, enabled me to decide. The 
generous temper of his letter to me, inclined me to 
suppose the former. 

The next morning, at the appointed hour, the 
prince's equipage was at the door. As I glanced my 
eye upon it from the window, I thonght that the liv- 
eries and the style of the panelings and trappings re- 
sembled those of the carriages which I had seen, on 
my first arrival in the town, and whose strange ma- 
nagement had at the time excited my surprise, although 
the present was a vehicle of a different desoriptioq. 
As I looked, I saw that the prince was preparing- to 
descend from the chariot, and anxious to anticipate 
and prevent this courtesy, I hastened to go down to 
meet him, and the thought I have mentioned passed 
firom my mind. Something yet wanting in my pre- 
parations delayed me, and before I was ready to leave 
the room, the prince had entered it. He waa a small 
and thin man, extremely ugly in countenance, and al- 
most deformed in figure. His featufea were strongljf 
marked and rigidly fixed. The severity of the lines 
which were chiselled deeply about his mouth and 
ohin, indicated that that portion of the face which ia 
the seat of the passions, was habituated to the expres- 
sion of haughtiness and contempt. His address, thoixgh 
stiff and ungraceful by necessity, was yet high-bora 
and courtly. He saluted me very respectfully and 
kindly, though gravely, and afler several expreaiioQa 
of compliment, which were flattering in efiect, but 
labotiously ceremonious in form, and conveyed with- 
out any relaxation from the constrained rigo^ of hm 
countenance, he gave me his arm, and we descended 
to the door. When we reached the chariot, I observed 
a number of the villagers standing around at a little 
distance, whose looks indicated dissatisfaction and ex- 
citement, although they did not seem inclioed to pro- 
ceed to any actufil violence. Others were to be seen 
collecting together from various pa'rts of the' surround- 
ing scene, and several men were standing singly or 
in clusters along the road through which ahe chariot, 
to judge from its position, had been driven. I thought 
of what the landlord had said of the prince's supposed 
connection with the disappearance of the village girl, 
and did not doubt that the present commotion had 
something to do with those suspicions. The persons 
thus assembled were, all of them, men, and generally 
of a rude and hardy aspect j they looked like a com- 
pany which was not likely to be assembled causeless- 
ly, or disperaed easily. 1 am as little inclined by birth 
or principle as any man, either to value the judgment 
of the mob, or to submit to their passions ; neverthe- 
less, when I regarded the feaiful and unhonored dan- 
ger which would necessarily attend an afiray with a 
savage crowd, and remembered that we were wholly 
unarmed, I heaitated about the propriety of bearding 
the anger which seemed ready to burst forth, by pro- 
ceeding at that moment, and I tiuned towards prince 
Meniizen, to suggest that our ride should be deferred, 
but the fierce fire of defiance with which his kindled 
features were glowing, at once showed the hopeless, 
ness of proposing retreat to him, and drove from my 



HBNKY PI7LTBNBY. 



13S 



own niod aU thoqgjlui of rtnkmi ^ WfgMiloa which 
ihonld iniiicato lese courage on my port than on hit. 
I watched bi^ eoa^tenanoe as bo fint baoamo aware 
of the poniUo intention of the group that turjoounded 
him ; he darted a glance of i«to)eiant icorn upon 
them, and bia fy^iaim gsaw floihed with the ffiililant 
ovnoatneaa ol unarnqoecablo reaolatioD, and bii lip 
rtiiOaned, and bia ttetfa weie aet^and every part of his 
iace grew fiied and haid like marUe. He turned hia 
lye with a oold and ateelrUike glance upon iuB ene^ 
miea, and keptil thete while 1m took me bf the elbow, 
and deaired me to get in. 2 did ao, and be foUo.wed 
iu». The atefia ware pui up, .and the coacboMU), turn- 
ing round, inquired if he had not bettex diive leiwd 
by thm beach, whjbKh wu a diflerent road iiom that 
vbich k» bad em» hy, and aopewhat more circuit* 
one. 

■'Mo, fir" aaid the prince, atemly, and waih a 
Ufoog e«^b«ua on tho latt^p woffd, aa he Mated bim- 
•alf noce firmly on b^ place; " you will drive hack 
the wno way that you e«m«." 

The maa, in obedience to the order, turned the 
cbuiol round, whioh obliged him to paaa directly 
thioogh the aowd that itood at the side. They parted 
ielfietMl^,yotpeftQeluUy,and yielded panage to the 
Tehicle without any demonstration of roientaent, and 
we drOTa rapidly on. When wa had pawed beyond 
all danger of m QUa ta t ion » the prince cast a glance 
mud upon the oen who atill stood gaiiag at the end 
of the aUeel, tM eicl^dmed with a hitter sneer, 
" d^itifib! (hat would be 0tt(-ihri)aC8 if they were not 
cowi^!*' 

He h^d acarosly uttered the words, when a turn in 
the road brought us in view of another throng of about 
Uurty men, occopyiog the side of the stzaet a few 
hundred yards in advance of us. They were stand« 
i9g apparofUly in erpeetation of the arti¥al of prince 
Maaiuwi- Seme of ibem bad ciubs concealed behind 
tlNr FMVHls, and ettbeis M knives in their belts, 
which juight fuiher have been aasumed iirom a hostile 
gMtiva, .w gaigbt hAva fomed a portion of their pro- 
^wionfil ntlist. AiitUein^iQlitoftheot^ersBiooda 
tee and atordy man, clothed In the mde garb of a 
Cnmte boatmnn, with the exception of a coarse black 
flkHb jacl^al. which h0 appeased to have assumed ibr 
tbe occaaion. fie leeiiwd 4o be somewhat advanced 
in years— and as his neglected hair, which was par- 
tially gray, fell around his hardy features, that wera 
bronzed by the heats and storms of many a year, his 
aspect was extremely striking and picturesque. His 
red woollen cap was thrust in the side pocket of his 
coat, and without arms of any description, he stood 
erect, vrith his foot advanced, his shoulders thrown a 
little bnok^and his head leaning somewhat forwvd, 
in the attitude of a man pc^pased toattampt fome bold 
thing. The whole §Nnp stood in front of a Ultle ca- 
bin, VBbicl^ night be conjectured to be his awn ; at the 
wiadons of which the Jfacee of two or Ihoee fanales 
might baaeftn. 

When the rapid tiet of our bocies had hranght us 

up to this aaaemUyt the man 1 have apoken o^ who 

appeared to be. the leeder of the pacQr, Kbepped 4b^ 

ward, and reeolntely aajiiing the bridle of one of the 

2 F 



animals, brought the pair to a stop. Fleet and powers 
ful as they were, they yielded to his sinewy grasp» 
and stood still. 

'» Prince Menitsen," he cried, in a sharp, shrill, ani 
pierciag voice, as he looked up at the nobleman, with 
a glance as stem and proud,- and steady as his own. 
" by tbo right of insuHbrable wrong, I demand la 
know if my daughter is within the walls of your caai' 
Uef" 

The lip of the prince culled with disdain as he re* 
plied, " scoundrel ! do you dare to stop my carriaga 
when I am within it{ Drive on, villain; driva 
on!" 

The coaohman, as the other stood besido his hoisesf 
heads, with his giipe unrelaxed, ai^ieared to considec 
the command impracticable, and sat motioMess in bin 
seat The i»ince stepped out upon the platform eC 
the driver, and taking the whip and reins from his 
hands, lashed the impatient steeds wUh all his force. 
The fiery animals, bursting Isom their detention, 
sprang ibrwaid with a single bound, umL dragged Iha 
still resolute viUager after them. He retained his held 
for a few steps, until the thong was again applied, 
when the half.maddened courser to whose bit ha 
clnng, flung up his head into the air, and lifted tha 
obstinate peasant from his feet; he swung for a mo* 
ment in the air, and then fell upon the side of tha 
road, and the chariot flew past. Just ae the vehicia 
whirled by him as he lay, the prince jerked bis whi^ 
back and struck him over the face. The horses darted 
along with the fleetness of the wind, and in the next 
moment the boatman and his parly were out of 
sight. 

When the coachman, in obedienoe to his master's 
repeated commands, had cheeked the speed of hik 
horses, and brought them back to their feimer mora 
moderate pace, the castle of prince Menitsen was al* 
ready in sight. It stood upon the summit of a hill 
which rose on all sides by a gradual elevation toward* 
the sea, by which it was abruptly teiminated, forming 
on that side a high md precipitous promontory. Tha 
castle was surrounded by a lofty wall, ibrmed ahnost 
entirely of huge natural rocks, which might have de> 
fled the assault of an army, and beyond which, only a 
few turets and the flog of the included flaansion were 
visible firom the spot where we were. Just as w« 
turned from the public way which we had hithert(» 
followed, into a road which led by a straight and as* 
cending coune of considerable length, directly to tha 
broad gate of the cartle-wall, there was heard in tha 
direction of the town, the low sound of a drum, beat* 
iog a rapid reyeitle. Jh» moment the sound smota 
upon my ears, I suspeoted its cause, and the counte* 
nance of my cempenk>n indicated an equally quick 
comprehension upon his part; neither of us, however, 
spoke. I rose from my seat, and looked back towarde 
the village. An opening in the houses brought befora 
my view the point at which our progress had been in- 
terrupted by the incident described ; the crowd whieh 
we had left was increased to treble iu former siie. 
and vras marching forward in a dense mass, whila 
nambeie were seen doming to join it from varioue 
quarters. Among the throng, however, the biaek* 



134 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



«oat»of their fonuer leader and ipokesmaD, and proba- 1 
. l>le .inciter of the mob, was not vbible. The pace of 
• Mir>hor8eB.wai quickened, and we peised within the 
liigh and maMive gate. 

k When we had entered the enc1orare> the prince de- 
«oended from the chariot, and laid to the porter, in his 
- juoal indiffereht and elevated tone of voice, "let all 
Ifaoee bolts be Cutened, and let the warder of the up> 
far itory prepare some melted lead." He then turned 
iooae, and said carelenly, as he ungloved his hand 
and. offered it to me, *' perhaps, you will walk to the 
MBtle, Mr.Pulteneyr 

• ) I accordingly got out, and we turned into a path 
-which led through a double bed of very rich flowers, 
towards the citadel of this impregnable fortification. 
ldy.-ho8t uttered no observation whatever in relation 
lo the attack which seemed to be at hand, and his 
manner indicated no apprehension or alarm. He pre- 
jseded me along the walk in his accustomed peculiar 
style of manner, flinging out his feet in great strides 
fiom side to side, and swinging his body from ri'^ht to 
leA;- while he reclined his head from time to time 
upon his shoulder or breast, and looking up at the sky, 
or. down upon his boots, o^ any where except in the 
&ce of his auditor, and occasionally folded his arms, 
made some remark about the flowers, with an inflect- 
0d air of ease and unconcern. 
<• ' We presently traversed the length of the path, and 
reached- the great hall of the castle. A broad marble 
ataircase occupied the centre of it, which my conduc- 
tor invited me to abcend. We proceeded through the 
hall of the tipper story till we came to a great window 
level with the floot, which looked out towards the vil- 
lage. The prince stopped for a few moments, and 
looked out upon the perscms who were seen in the 
distance gathering towards his castle, and listened 
fiavely for a while to the sound at the gate, which 
indicated that a portion of the mobhad already reached 
the ^ walls; but he said not a word, and presently 
turned towards an adjoining door as if there was no- 
thing proceeding outside which could occupy his 
thoughts for a moment. 

- "There are some pictares here, Mr. Pnlteney," 
aaid . he, as he threw open the door, and disclosed a 
line gallery, and fixed his eyes upon the ceiling as he 
apoke. " Yon would be entertained perha^ by looking 
at them." 

.> I followed his invitation, and went with him into 
the corridor. 

* "This," said he, as he swung along the room and 
pointed at one of the pictures, while be hung his head 
sideways, and turned his fkce in the opposite direc- 
tion, '* this is a Raphael ;^Daniel in the lion's den. 
Daniel, you know, was a prophet. There is a Rubens ; 
Charmian oflering Cleopatra an asp ccmcealed in flow- 
*it." 

* « The coloring is good," said I. 
' Is it not too deep for you I However, if you 

, like < strong tints, here is a Judas betraying Christ 
with a kiss, by Murillo ; full of meaning, is it 
not?" 

" Truly so ,* every countenance is charged with in- 
telligence." 



This is a Nero catching pigeona in a net, by Le 
SoBor." 

The drawing of the pigeons I think will be found 
defective." 

" Depend upon it, the drawing of the net will not. 
Its fellow, you see, is Domitian killing flies in his pv- 
lace if they annoyed him — ^I do not know that ho 
could do any thing better with them. Here is a mag- 
nificent thing by Domenichino— Regulus tortured an 
his return to Carthage ; designed apparently to illus- 
trate the folly of keepipg good faith — a moat praise- 
worthy purpose, undoubtedly." 

'* A moral, which, as the world goes, hardly nttda 
teaching by pictures." 

** Ton say true. Here are some family portraits .-— 
my great ancestor, who built this Castle, to shut out 
what hated him, and shut up what he hated." 
" A most comprehensive purpose, no doubt," said I. 
" Like his descendant, he lived much alone ; and it 
was said of him, by one of his enemies, that he never 
opened his gates except to allure, nor shut them ex- 
cept to destroy. Here is another of ihem," eoniinned 
the prince, halting with his back towaids the last of 
the file, " he was an odd man, was this one; He had a ^ 
maxim, sir; perhaps it would amuse you to hear it" 
"Certainly." 

" Beware' a stream that is silent, and an enemy 
that oflers friendship. If you will raise that cur- 
tain," throwing open a door which, till then, had been 
concealed in the wall, and, pointing to a broad piece 
of tapestry, which was drawn over a massive frame 
that pended from one of the walls of the little apart- 
ment, ** you will see a picture which fives the saying 
proof." 

I did as he requested mei and stepping into the' 
room or closet, drew aside the curtain, which displayed 
a very diflferent picture from what I had expected. A 
passage of considerable depth was exhibited, having 
a single grated window on one side, and a small iroD 
door in the opposite end, and in the centre of the floor 
the frame of a guillotine. The horizontal platform was 
accurately placed for the reception of its victim ; the 
polished blade of the broad seimetar was fixed on 
high, and a black coflin stood on the ground beside 
the dreadful instrument of death. On the opposite 
wall, just above the door, was this inscription, in let- 
ters of iron,— > 

THE REWARD OF ALL WHO THWART THE WISHES Of 
A MAN OF row BR, AND THE "FATE OP THEM THAT 
CONFIDE IN THE FROFESSIONS OF A FRINGE. 

The instant that this scene extended before my 
eyes, the purpose and intentions of prince Menitzcn in 
inviting me to his castle, and bringing me to that spot, 
rushed upon my mind. I turned with the speed of 
lightning to seize the traitorous wretch, and crush out 
his miserable' life, but turned only in time to see 
the massive door swing jarringly to upon its heavy 
hinges, and to hear drawn the numerous bolts that 



consigned me to a hopeless dongeoi 
[To be coniinued. 



:f>gi^ 



THE ANNITERSART REGISTER. 



135 



THE ANNIVERSARY REGISTER: 



OB, 



MONTHLY CALENDAR OF AMERICAN CHRONOLOGY- 



- , XIHIBJTXNO 

CORRECT DATES 

OF 

THE BIRTHS AND DEATHS OF EMINENT MEN, 

LAND AND SEA FIGHTS, TREATIES, EXTRAORDINARY AND MEMORABLE EVENTS, A!n> 
OTHER MATTERS, CONNECTED WITH THE 

HISTORY OF AMERICA. 



AUGUST. 



The Continent of America discovered by Colarabus, while cruizing off Trinidad, which ho 
had discovered but the day before. At first he supposed the land to be an Island of the 
Orinoco, from the numerous mouths of that river, and named it Isla Santa. 

Commencement of the non-importation contract entered into by the Atlantic cities, pevpediBg 
British Goods. 

Governor Bernard, who had made himself odious to the people of Massachusetts, sailed^lfeB 
Boston, having been recalled by the British^Government 

Smart Skirmish at Cedar Springs, S. C, between the Americans and the British, 50 of th» 
latter captured. 

Rocky Mount, S. C, unsuccessfully attacked by the Americans under General Sumter* 

French Frigate L'Ambuscade beat off the British Frigate Boston, off New York. 

Swanton, Vermont, captured and plundered by the British. 

Great Fire at New Orleans. Loss 150,000 dollars. • 

Two colored women, at Boston, claimed as Slaves, seized' by a party of blacks, and canieil 
forcibly from the Supreme Court of Massachusetts. 

Utica and Schnectada Rail Road opened to the public. 

Brookfield, (Quabaog.) Mass., burnt by the Indians, one house alone remaining. 

Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, being newly elected to Congress, signed the Declaratioo of In- 
dependence. 

Fort Stanwir, (now Schuyler,) near Rome, N. Y , besieged by the British and Indians, nader 
Colonel St Leger. The Americans in the Fort, commanded by Colonel Ganseveoit, 
who gallantly maintained his station till the British retired in confusion on the 30th. 

Died, aged 81, William Williams, one of the Signers of the Declaration of Independences 

Large force of British and Indians defeated by Major Croghan and 160 Americans, in an At- 
tack by the former on Fort Stephenson, on the Sandusky. 

General Convention of Amity and Commerce between U. S. and Federation of Centnl 
America. 

Columbus sailed from the port of Paloe, Spain, on his First Voyage of Discovery. 

Rutland, Mass., attacked by the Indians for the first time. 

Died, in North Carolina, aged 27, Thomas Godfrey, the first American Dramatist. Bbm Id 
Philadelphia. 

Attack on Tripoli, by American Commodore Preble. James Decatur killed, Stephen PecatiEr 
wounded. 

Trial of Aaron Burr for Treason. 

Privateer Schooner Alias captured two British Ships, Planter, 12 guns, and Pursuit, 16 guns. 

Fort Erie, U. C, invested by 5000 British Soldiers, under General Drummond. 

Skirmish on the U. S. side of the Niagara river, between the AAiericans and British, who had 
crossed the river to attack Buffalo, but were compelled to retire. 

Died, at Newbern, N. C. John Stanley^' formerly M. C. , , . c- 

St. Johns, Newfoundland, possessed, in the name of Elizabeth, Qacen o£[ ^nj^^^^^ 
Humphrey Gilbert. ^'9'^'^^^ ^^^ 



Dijor 

MHtb. 


T«T. 


1 


1498 


— 


1768 


— 


1769 


- 


1780 


,., 




.. 


1793 


.— 


1813 


«— 


1830 


— 


1836 


_ 




8 


1675 


— 


1776 


- 


1777 


_ 


1811 


-- 


1813 


- 


1836 


3 


1499 


— 


1724 


— 


1763 


- 


1804 


.. 


1807 


— 


1812 


— 


1814 


■" 


-^ — 


«^ 


1833 


4 


1583 







b?l5«g^e 



THB gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



1781 

1784 
1792 

1814 

1816 
1821 

1620 

1749 

1778 

1799 

1812 

1813 
1816 
1832 
1833 

1777 



1778 

1780 
1811 
1815 

1817 

1778 
1790 

1804 
1811 
1812 



1607 



1679 
1788 
1812 
1S14 
1835 

1836 



1736 
1775 



1778 
1787 

1809 
1812 



Colonel iMac Heyne exec^itod tt CharliitOD, B. C, by tbe British Gexwnl Lord Rawdon, for 
being found in anna after haTing been induced to lign a declaration of fealty to the 
King of England, at the soriender of Charleston. 

Lftfayette landed on the »horea of the U. S. for the third time. 

Died, in England, General Sir John Burgoyne, a celebrated Britifch Leader during the Revo- 
lutionary War. 

The Americana repulsed by the British at Michillmackinac. or Fort Markinaw, on Lake 
Huron. 

Treaty between U S. and Pottawottamie and Chippewa Indians. 

Died, al his fariD on the Aluhawk, N. Y., aged 87, William Floyd, one of the Signers of the 
DodaiQtion of Independence. 

The Pilgrim Fathers sailed from Southampton, England, but were eompelkd to rettUD and 
abandon one of their vesseli as unseaworthy. 

Born, in South Carolina, Thomas Lynch, one of the Signen of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence. He sailed, with his wife, in 1779, for St Eustatla, but was never again heard oC 

The Briiiflh Frigates iuao, Lark, Orpheus, and Cerberus, with other veanla, burnt and sunk 
at Rhode Island, upon the appearance of the French Fleet under D*£itaing. 

Died, aged 74, Richard, Earl Howe, a celebrated British Admiral during the RevolatMoary 
War. 

AmericanPfOnder Maj. Vanhoro, fell into an Ambush of Indiaiw under Tecumseh, at Browof* 
town creek, Michigan. Several officers and men shot 

American Privateer Decatur captured British Schooner of War Dominica. 

First. Election in Indiana for Ezeoative and Legislative Oflteera. 

Died, in New Jersey, Charles Ewing, Chief Justice of Supreme Court of that State. 

Died, at Newtown, N. Y , aged 57, Colonel George Gibbi^a celebrated Mineraliogist. and Im- 
porter of Valuable Cabinet of Minerals belongings to Yale College. 

General Herkimer advancing, at the head of 800 Americans, to the relief of Fort Stanwiz, be- 
sieged by the British, fell into an Ambaseade, and fell, with 160 of bis men. 

The Americans made a sortie from Fort Stanwiz, N. Y., and destroyed the Indian Camp— 
Colonel Willet and Lieutomnt Stockton leek advantafe of the oo a f Ms io a , au o <ee da d in 
cutting their way through the British force for the purpose of alarming the country, and 
getting assistance. 

M. Gerard, the French Ambassador, (die first Plenipotentiary sent to the U. S ,) introduced to 
Congress. 

The Briii&h defeated by the Americans, under Somier, at Hanging Rock S. C 

Ship Wonalonset burnt at Portamoiith, N. H. 

American Fleet, under Decatur, arrived off Tripoli. 

Died, at Philadelphia, aged 48, James A. Bayard, Slateaman. 

Died, at his Mills oo the Brandywine, Delaware, aged 78, Peter Samuel Dupont, da Ne- 
mours. 

Great Fire at New York-^300 houses burnt 

The first War between the United States and the Creek Indiana, termiosted by T^(y. 
signed at N. Y. 

Commodore Preble's second attack upon Tripoli. 

R:ot at Trinity Church, N. Y., while conferring degrees upon Students of Columbia Coll«ge. 

U. S. Frigate Essez eapturwl BriUah brig of War George. 

American Fleet on Lake Ontario chaaed British Fleet into port In the night, two American 
Schooners sunk in a squall. 

Two ship loads of Emigrants, under George Popham, of Plymouth, England, reached the 
mouth of ibe Kennebec river, but the Colonists returned to Englaixi in the coutse of the 
nezt year. 

Groat Fire at Beston, 70 warehonsee— 80 dwellings, and many vessels burnt. 

Sixteen men killed and four wounded by the Indians, on Tennessee river. 

American General Hull evaeuated Canada in the night, and returned to Detroit. 

First Meeting between Amorican and British Commissionem of Peaee at Ghent. 

Riot at Balumore. Several peiaons killed and wounded, and property desimyed. Thn sup- 
posed mismanagement of the Bank of Maryland oecaaioned the «ieitement 

Steamboat Motto burst her boiler near Blennefhassen's Island, on the Ohio, 11 petMoa killed 
and many wounded. 

Heavy Rains and Destructive Floods in West Tennessee. 

Born, in UUter oo.. N. Y., Jamea Clinton, General in the Revolutionary Army- 
British Sloop of War Falcon sent her boats, with a Sehooner and Cutter, to capture an Ame- 
rican Schooner in Gloucester harbor, Cape Ann : but the British party were all cap- 
tured by the Americana in revenge whereof; Captain Linaae,of the Falcon* bombarded 
the Town. 

Boonesborougb, Ky., attacked by nearfy 500 Indiana, who were compelled to retire on the 
20th. with 37 killed. 

,The Ship Columbia and Sloop Washington aailed from Boaton on a voyage round the World. 
Tbey returned in August, 1790, being the first American v^Mels that circumnavigated 
the Globe. 

Intercoume between Great Britain and U. S. suspended in oooaequence of non-mtificalioQ of 
Treaty 

British and Indians, under Mf^or Muir and Tecumseh, defeated by V. S. Troops, under Col. 
Miller, at Magango, near Detroit 



THE ANNITBRSART RBQISTER. 



13T 



ntjoi 



10 



11 



U 



13 



14 



15 



16 



1614 

1815 

1817 

1623 

1813 

1814 
1816 

1826 

1835 

1585 
1676 
1781 
1782 
1814 

1837 
1676 

1778 



1814 
1728 
1762 



1812 

1775 

1776 
1779 

1795 

1813 

1830 
1761 
1776 
1777 
1778 
17QD 

1788 
1794 

1812 



1814 
1824 
1837 
1776 

1777 



1780 
1812 



A British Sqaadron borabaK^ed StoniDgloo, Coon., but waa oompeUed to retire, by the Militia 

who worked two 18 pounden with much succeM. 
Treaty between General Jaokran. on behalf of U. 8*, and Creek lodiaofl. 
Treaty between Commodore Decatur, on behalf of U. S. and Bey of Tripoli, who reitored 

all American priionen, and made reaiitation for American Property. 
Dreadful Siorm and Flood in Penniylvania and Maryland. EUtemive Damage done, and 

many Livea lost 
Gorges and Mason obtained a Patent from James L for the pioprMtarjt of Laconia, as the 

Lands were called, lying between the Sea, St. Lawreece, Merrimac, and Kennebec. 
British repulsed in an attack upon St. Michaels, Maryland. 
U. S. Schooners Julia -and GrowJer captured by Lhe« British on Lake Ontario. 
British Fleet of sixty sail entered ihe Chesapeake. -.^t'. '.::« 

Riehaid Smith hanged at Philadelphia, ibr the muider of Captain John Ca|K>n, imder pecu^ 
" liar circumstances. - 
General Convention of Peace' and Commerce between U. S. and Desmaik, executed at Wash- 

ington. Date April 26. 
Great Meetinig at Charleston, S. C in relation to movemeats and publicationaof Aaii-Slavezy 

Societies. 
Davis's Steaits discovered by Captain John Davis. 
Falmouth, Mass., ravaged 1^ the Indians. 
U. S. Friffato TiumbuU carried by the British into New York. 
Savannah, Georgia, evacuated by the British. 
The British S^adron which bombarded Stonington, Coxui.,oii tha 9ih, haviiigheenieiJiibrced 

t^ a 74, again battered the plaee, but was again compeUed to retire. 
A train of Passenger Cars, with upwards of 200 passengeis, ran against a heavy train of bur- 

tfaea can on the Portsmouth and Boanoke Rail Rood— 3 person killed, 20 hurt, some 

daugeroosly. 
Philip, or MeUcomet, the Sachem of the Wampanoags, killed by a friendly Indian, in a 

Swamp near New Hope, now Bristol, R. I., thus terminating the Indian Wars in New 

England. 
The French Fleet, under D'Cstaing, much damaged in a gale off Rhode Island. 
Msjor General Charles Lee found by Court Martial guilty of insubordination, and suspended 

from command in the U. S. Army for one year. 
Msjor Morgan, of U. S. Rifles, killed in a skirmish with the British near Fort Erie. 
Born, at Salem, N. J., Edward Augustus Holyoke, the celebrated Physician. 
Havana captured by the British under Admiral Pocock, who took nearly three million pounds 

sterling in ailver, 12 ships of the line, besides merchantman, artillery, stores* and othfir 

immense treasures. 
U. &. Frigate Essex captured British Sloop of War Alert off the Grand Basks— the first King's 

ship captured during the War. 
Commencement of March through the Wilderness to Quebec, from Cambiidge, Mats., by 

1000 Americans under General Arnold. 
Constitution of Maryland adopted. 
Siege of Peaebioot raised by General Lovel, of Mamachusetts Militia { the Americans re- 

ttrad, after suata'miog considerable loss. 
Jay*s Treaty of Amity, vCommerce, and NavigatMn* between U. 8. a^d Great Britain, ratified 

hy American GovemmenL 
Queenstown, Maryland, possessed by the British. 
British Sloop of War Pelican captured U. S. brig Aigus. 
Died, at Washington, General Philip Stuart, a Revolutionory Ofiieer. 
Bom, at Casco Bay, Maine, Edward Preble, a diatli\g«ished Naval Commandfr. 
Born, at Philadelphia, Samuel Ewing, Literaleur. 
Great scarcity of Wheat acd Corn in Boston. 

American General John Sullivan commenced besieging Newport, R. t 
General Snmter captured a Fort on the Wateree, S. C.and intercepting a party of British 

aoldiers coAv<tyiog 40 wagons, captured the storefi and made 100 prisoners. 
Great Hurricane in New England States, 
ifianea Monroe received in Paris as Ambassador from U. 6.; the French Convention ordering 

the French and American Flaga to be conjointly hung in their hall. 
Americans, under Captain Heald, evacuated Fort Dearborn, Illinoia, hy order ef Gen. Hull.*— 

The Indiana sttucked the garriaen on their march to Dettoit, and uj^w^rds of 50 persons 
killed. 
British repulsed by the Amerieans in an attack on Fort Erie, with a loas of 900 iB«n. 
General Lafayette arrived in U. 8. irom Fmnc^e on his last visit. 

Steamboat Dubuque burst her boilets about 300 miles above fit. Louis, kUling 26 persons. 
Two fire ships sent by the Americans amongst the British shipping in the Hudaon, near Tany- 

town, but failed in their object 
Battle of Bennington, Vermont. The British defeated by the Amerieans, under Gen. Siarke, 

who lost but 100 men ; capturing 700 prisoners, killiqg 300, taking 1000 muakets. 4 

brass field pieces, 4 beggage wagons, &c. 
Battle of Camden, N. C. The Americans defeated by the British, usder Comwallis. 
Geneial Hull surrendered ihe fiirt and town of Detroit, the American Army, and the whole 
of the Michigan Territory, to the British, without firing a shot He was tried by a court 
martial, and found guilty, but pardoned. 



138 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



Died, at Sweet Springs, Va., John Floyd, M. C.'from 1817 to 1829, and Governor of Virginia 
from 1829 to 1834. 

A Comet appeared in New England, and remained viiible for 30 day?. 

Died, aged 82, Dr. Timothy Cutler, a distingaished Divine, and President of Yale College. 

Died, of Malignant Fever, aged 75, Jonathan TrambuU, Governor of Connecticut daring the 
Revolution- 

British an<] Indian Camp near Port George, surprised by the Americans and Indians, who 
killed 75, and took 16 prisoners. 

Lafayette appointed Marshal of France, and General-in-Chief of the National Guard. 

Violent Storm along the coast of the Southern and Middle States. 

Bom, in Roanoke, Virginia, Virginia Dare, the first White Child borq in the American 
Colonies. 

Gen. Sumter's Camp on the Wateree, S. C, surprised by the British General Tarleton, with 
great loss to the Americans. 

Fulton made his first Steam trip from New York to Albany. 

Five persons executed at Salem, Mass., for Witchcraft 

A large party of British Regulars and Tories defeated by the Americans, under Colonel Wil- 
liams, on Ennoree River, S. C Captain Inman, of U. S. Army, killed. 

Died, aged 48. Baron de Kalb, MajorGeneral in Revolutionary Army: bom in Germany. He 
was mortally wounded in the Battle of Camden on the 16th. 

CoL Daniel Boone and Settlers attacked by Indians near Bkie Licks, Kentucky. Nearly 7Q 
of his party were killed, and some prisoners taken. 

U. S. Frigate Constitution, 44 guns, Captain Uull, captured British Frigate Gaerriere^ 38.— • 
The Prize sunk directly ader the action. 

Slo^p capsized in Buttermilk Channel, N. Y. — all on board perished. 

Dreadful Fire at Newfoundland~600 persons burnt out. Damage 200,000 dollars. 

2000 Indians defeated by 900 U. S. Troops under Gen. Wayne, near the Rapids of the Mi- 
ami of the Lakes — a decisive Victory, ensuring Pes^ce with the sit Nations and others. 
The major part of the American force was not called into action. 

American Privateer Decatur arrived at Charleston, S. C, with two Prizes — British Schooner 
of War Dominica, and London Trader ship heavily laden with Merchandize. 

Exchange of Gen. Burgoyne and his Staff, (Surrendered at Saratoga,) for American Prisoners 
taken at the Cedars, above Montreal, in May, 1776, authorized by Congress. 

Tornado in Massachusetts. 

TheOfiSce of'* The Observer," an Abolition Newspaper, published at Alton, Illinois, de- 
stroyed by a Mob. 

Dominic de Gorgues sailed from France with 3 ships and 150 men, to revenge the Manacre 
of the Huguenot Colony by the Spanish Adventurers in Florida. 

Died, at Jamestown, Virginia, Bartholomew Gosnold, the projector of Colonization in Vir- 
ginia. 

An Expedition against Quebec by New England frustrated by a sudden Storm, which de- 
stroyed nearly a dozen of the Transport Ships, and drowned 1000 Men. 

British landed upon Long Island. 

British under Col. St. Leger raised the Siege of Fort Stanwix, N. Y. 

Americans under Generals Sullivan and Ogden, made an unsuccessful Expedition against 
Staten Island. Ogden made some prisoners at eonsiderable loss. 

The French Fleet avoided co-operation with the Americans, and sailed into Boston ; D'Es- 
taing being compelled by his Officen to put into port. 

Nantucket declared itself neutral, but under the protection of England. 

The British Fleet having arrived at Benedict, lod-, Commodore Barney burnt his FlQtiUa, 
and retired to Nottingham. 

Fort Pemaquid, New England, ravaged by the Indians. 

Nerigwok, an Indian Town, burnt by the New Englanders, and many noted Warrion 
killed. 

Died, at Deal, England, Silas Deane, formerly Minister to France from U. S. He was re- 
called from his Office on suspicien of misusing the Public Money, and died abroad ia 
great distress. 

Died, aged 40, of a Bilious Fever, William Bradford, Attorney General of U. S. 

American Commodore Preble bombarded Tripoli for the thiM time, and again on the 95th 
and 29th. 

Died, in Philadelphia, aged 47, Alexander Wilson, the celebrated Ornithologist 

Privateer Schooner Patapsco captured British Brig Europe. 

Died, aged 35, from Yellow Fever, Oliver Hazard Perry, " the Hero of Erie." He eipired 
just as his Ship, the United States, was entering the harbor of Trinidad, 

James, Duke of York, resigned his claims on Delaware and Pennsylvania, in favor of Wil- 
liam Penn. 

Bom, at Hull, England, William Wilberforce, the celebrated Abolitionist 

The French destroyed the Forts and Settlements at Hudson's Bay. 

Died, aged 67, Thomas Chittenden, first Governor of Vermont. 

Battle of Bladensburgh, Md. The Americans defeated by the British, under General Roes 
and Admiral Cockburn. 

Capture of Washington City, and Destruction' of the Capitol. Presidem's House, Potoma<^ 
Bridge, Dock Yard, and Public Offices, by the British. D^QiiizecJby-^^^. 



S«7«f 

Uekh. 


Tear. 


16 


1^37 


17 


1682 
1765 
1785 


— 


1813 


_ 


1830 


18 


1587 


— 


1780 


19 


1807 
1692 
1780 


— 




— 


1782 


— 


1812 


._ 


1«32 


20 


1794 


— 


1813 


21 


1781 


.. 


1811 
1837 


fSi 


1567 


— 


1607 


— 


1711 


" — 


1776 
1777 


— 


1778 


— 


1814 


S3 


1690 
1724 



24 



1789 



1795 

1804 

1813 
1814 
1820 

1682 

1759 
1782 
1797 
1814 



THE ANNI-TBRSARY REGISTER. 



139 



Day o# 



85 



S6 



87 



88 



89 



30 



31 



Tw. 

1777 
1788 

1789 

1805 
1807 
1811 

1814 
1835 

1775 

1803 

1831 

1583 

1741 
1776 
1816 



1825 
1889 
1832 
1565 



1776 
1777 

1781 
1793 

1798 

1815 

1583 

1708 

1778 
1807 

1814 

1837 
1641 



1768 

1778 

1781 

1613 

1814 

1835 

1664 

1769 
1778 

1818 

1833 



Gen. Howe debarki at the head of Elk River, Md"., 18,000 men, for the Subjuffation of Phi- 
ladelphia. 
Lieut. Col. John Laurens killed in« trifling Skirroiah between the Americana and Britiah at 

Combahee, S. C. He waa one of the braveat and moet useful of the Revolutionary 

Worihies. ' 

Died, at Frederickaburg, Virginia, aged 82, Mra. Mary Waahington, the Mother of the Jllua- 

trioua Hero. 
Died, at Newburg, N. Y.,agcd 45rJohn Ske/ £u8tace,a distinguished Revolutionary Officer. 
Died, aged 47, £dward Preble, a celebiated American Commodore. 
U. 8. Branch Bank at Charlesion, a C, rpbbed in the night (Sunday) of 135,000 dollan in 

gold. Nearly the whole of the money waa afterwards recovered, j 
The British Evacuated Washington City in the nightJ 
Great Fire at Charlestown, Mass — 70 houses and other buildings burnt 
The Baltimore and Washington Rail Ruad opened to the public. • 
The Americana opened iheir entrenchmenia on Plowed Hill, Boston. The Britiah threw 

above 300 shells at them. 
U. S. Frigate Philadelphia, Capl. Bainbridge, captured oflf Cape de Gatt, a Moorish craiaer of 

82 guns, and retook her prize, an American Brig. 
Fatal Duel between Thomas E. Biddle, paymaster of U. S. Army, and Spencer Pettis M. C* 

from Mississippi. Both were killed. ' 

Wreck of the Largest Ship of the Fleet under the command of Sir Humphrey Gilbert and 
N Sir W. Raleigh, near Wiscassett Bay, Maine. Nearly 100 men perished. 
Born, in New Jersey, Joaeph Reed, Patriot and Statesman. 

Battle of Long-Island. Americans routed by the British, with a lost of 200O men. 
U. S. Schooner Firebrand attacked by Spanish 24 gun Ship and 2 Brigs of War, near Vera 

Cruz. After striking his flag, the Captain was allowed to proceed with his veaael to 

New Orleans. 
Died, aged 17, Lucrelia Maria Davidson, a Poetess of superior Talent and singular precocitv. 
Treaty of Commerce and Navigation between U. S. and Emperor of Auslriar 
Black Hawk and the Prophet delivered Prisoners to Governor-Dodge at Prairie du Chien 
St. Augustine's Day. Melandez, the Spanish General, having made the Coast of Florida on 

this day, on his Voyage from Spain, designated the River and Haven where he an- 
chored by the name of the Saint. 
Washington withdrew his Troops from Long Island. 
Several Quakers and other Citizens of Philadelphia, supposed to be frieqdly to the British 

cause, arrested and conveyed to a place of safety. 
The British, under Lord Cornwallis, enter Yorktown, Va. 
Died, on the Guillotine, at Paris, Adam Philip, Count of Cuatine, aged 53. He served in the 

Regiment of Saintonge during the American Revolutionary War. 
Died, at Edcnton, N. C , aged 56, James Wilson, one of the Signers of the Declaration of In- 

dependence. Born in Scotland. 
American Brig Commerce, Captain RUey, wrecked on 'coast of Africa. Crew saved, but 

captured by the Arabs ; sufi*ered dreadful hardships. 
Wreck of English Ship Delight, off Cape Breton— above 100 persona drowned. 
Haverhill, on the Merrimac, burnt and ravaged by the French and Indiana— 40 peiaona slain 

100 captured. - r- r 

Britiah repulsed by Americana under General Sullivan, on Rhode Island. 
Died, aged 68, Isaac Smith, Member of Federal Cohgreai^ Revolutionary Ofllcer, and Judge 

of the Supreme Court of New Jersey. 
Banks of Philadelphia suspended Specie Payment. 
Alexandria, D. C, taken by the British. 

Died, at Philadelphia, aged 34, John W Williams, a distinguished Lawyer and Literateiir. 
Grand Treaty of Peace between the Indian Sachems and the Director and Council of New 

Netherlands, (New York,) ratified in front of Fort Amsterdam, now the Battery, New 

York City. 
Bom, at Philadelphia, Joseph Dennie, a distinguished Litterateur. 
Americans, under General Sullivan, evacuated Rhode Island, and brought away all their 

Stores, &c. 
French Fleet of 28 sail of the Line, under Count De Grasse, sailed into the Chesapeake, to 

co-operate with the Americans. 
Massacre at Fort Mimms, in the Teusaw Settlement, Alabama. Nearly 300 men, women, 

and children butchered by the Indiana. 
Sir Peter Parker, with a party of Sailors and Marines from the British Frigate Menelans, re- 
pulsed at Bellair, Md., by. the Militia. Sir Peter Parker mortally wounded. 
Died, at Liverpool, England, William T. Barry, of Kentucky, Minister Plenipotentiary of 

U. S. to Spain, formerly U. S. Postmaster-general, and M. C. 
Colonel Richard Nichoils summoned Governor Siuy vesant to deliver New Amsterdam, (New 

York,) Town and Fort, to his care. v 

Bom, in New York City, David Hosack, a celebrated Physician. 
4000 British Troops, under Sir W. Clinton, arrived at Newport, R. L 
Died, at Laurel Hill, near Philadelphia, aged 84, General Arthur St. Clair, a distinguished 

Revolutionary Officer. Bom at Edinboroueh, Scotland. ^ . ,, ( r\r\n\(> 
Died, in Virginia, aged 65, Dr. Aylett Hawe*. ^'^'^'^^^ ^^ ^OO^ IL 



S<Dik^ 8.(DSr<^(i 



COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZilfE 

MY J. C« B0CK«1I«« 




r^=^ t^^^^P^P^ ^H=H 




Digitized Sy LjDOQIC 



^ ^^T^^ 



Hnq^zqs 



1 



MJACfle in fweetnen till heaxd no more. 



fr. Boatiwain*! whittle. 



m 



ih^^ i iiirrm 



••• .^-n^ , -f- 



^^ 



I 1 I 



KhtJ-yCf-f^-^^j^ 



Ped. • 



rf 



^tol 



"^t^b=t.=i— ^ • ■ ■ ■ "• 



loco. 



i 



g^ 



• * ,. A • • • 



:Ti i %ri-if 



Ped. 



^^©^^^ 



Soft as the tender vow 
WhinpeMd iA accenn low, 

Uoto Um loved one — the detieet of ell- 
Gentle as falling snow 
Caat in the river's flow, 

SoothlDg and bleaing, the dying notes fall. 



The bright sun is glancing 

As swiAly advancing, 
Delighted we gvte on the varying scene ; 

The vast spreading mountain — 

The valley — the fountain, 
And lofty trees robed in their foliege green. 




But the iiinKKlit ii flcetiog, The shade* of ere meeting, And ilow • ly the landseape "^ uT 



i 



m-f-^zg=g=i.^ 



St 



^ 



£=e 



fhdfaig a - way; Kow homeward re - turn - log, Ere the red itan are bomX- - ing^ 



&.. 1% ■' K 



C- i t-i^=F^ fei^ 



i 



Tcan wUl hare panM ere for - • - got - - ten this day. 



Digitized by V^jC 

Repeat Symp* 



14S THE gentleman's MAGAZINE* 



k 



REVIEW OF NEW BOQKS 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF IRISH LIFE. By Mrs. & C. Hall, Author of " The Baccaneer/* '• Und* 

Horace/* 6ic, &c. 

Tbs principal story in this collection, '* The Groves of Blarney/' iM an admirable delineation of the habite 
and chancters of Tarioiia daises of the Irish peasantry. The remainder portion of the volumea consists of 
an amusing tde called ** The Bocher (beggar) of Red-Gap Lane" and a numerous arrangement of " Sketches 
on Irish Highways, during the autumn of 1B34.'* We have frequently expressed our admiration of Mrs. 
Hall's talent in our pages, and as we imagine that our readers wiU prefer lengthy extracts to unnecessary 
criticism, we hasten to present some excellent specimens of the worih of these volumes, to which we accord 
unmitigated praise. 

The article on ^ Beggars" presents a frightful specimen of the condition of the lower orders of the Irish, ia 
the Ticinity of the town of Wexford. 

Good God ! it was a pitiable sight — the host of dirty, starving creatures who thurst themselves around the 
oarriage-door, so as completely to prevent itt being opened. The servant came round to the other side, 
which was less blockaded, and placing his face close to the glass, whispered— 

'*If yez will be plased to throw a few half-pence among them, it'ill scatter them, my lady, and then yon 
can get oul^ 

" A few half'pence!" To look upon the moving mass of starvation and misery, one would have imagined 
that the wealth of Croesus would go but a short way to alleviate their distress. One of the group— a tall» 
lithesome fellow, with rolling black eyes, and a pitiable Tacancy of look — grasped the carriage>lamp, or 
lather the part where the lamp should have been, and swung himself backwards and forwards, singing out, 
^ A penny for Johnny, a penny for Johnny — long life to the king and O'Connell — 0*Connell and the king ! 
A penny ibr Johnny, and another for Jack — poor Jack ! poor Johnny ! poor Johnny ! poor Jack !" *' Don-'t 
mind him, lady dear," shouted a woman, the upper part of whose form was enveloped in a coarse blue cloth 
doak, while, from over either shoulder, lolled forth the head and arms of a squalid, half-starved child.,* ''sure, 
he's a fool, and the fools never want— every one gives to the fools, to set off their own sense — look at mOx 
«nd God bless your sight l^ook at me, with nothing bat a blind man,^come here, Pan'el, lead liim forward' 
Lanty,)— nothing but a blind roan for a father over my ten children." " But see here, your honor, look at 
me, with as good as eleven, and no father at all over them !" interrupted another, who, not being encumber- 
ed with two living creatures on her back, was, I suppose, better able to fight her way, and maintain her sta- 
tion at the carriage-door. "Stand back, Mary Sbiels, ma'am!" exclaimed a third ; " what a brag you make 
about your children—and every one of them for away, barring those ye borrow for a set ofi)— eleven, in- 
deed ! — it's asy for the likes o' you to have double eleven, when you never cares what comes o' them !" 
This address, delivered to Mrs. Mary Shiels, was given in a tone and with an air of what I should imagine 
Billingsgate eloquence — the head thrown back, the arms a-kimbo, the voice wound to a high pitch, and the 
eye discoursing as rapidly and decidedly as the tongue ; but as the second part of her speech was addressed 
to ounelves, the attitude, air, manner, and voice changed miraculously, and was delivered in a drawling 
brogue. " God mark ye to grace, and bestow a trifle upon the poor widdy, the raal widdy — give her a 
ieatUrt or a little sixpence, just to keep her from starving ! Sure, it's yourselves have the kind heart! See 
here the hardship God sent upon me," and she liHed a child distorted in all its limbs, and in the lowest state 
of idiotcy, close up to the window. The miserable creature clapped its twisted hands together, and as the 
. thick matted hair fell over its small dull eyes, and it scratched at the glass like some wild animal seeking to 
disinter its prey, I thought I had never seen so painful or disgusting a spectacle. Those unfortunate idiots 
which in England are confined in proper asylums, in Ireland are reared to excite compassion from the travel- 
ler; and I think that at least every tenth family is cursed with one of those helplees creatures. You meet 
them by the way side, in the cottages, basking in the sunshine, wallowing with the pigs upon the dunghills, 
and always soliciting alms, which is hardly ever denied them. Many of those witless beings, as they grow 
np, attain a degree of cunning which, with a species of animal insiinct, they manage to turn to good account. 
Ajid what are called " Naturals" in the expressive idiom of the country, form a class perfectly unknown in 
any other land. But this topic I have treated elsewhere. To return to the beggars. Let it not be imagined 
that the few I have specified were the only ones who demanded giHs; there were blind, and lame, and 
'drunk, and sober— but all civil, and all tolerably good-tempered — exercising their eloquence or their wit, a? 
it might chance, upon iheir auditory, and intent upon extorting money from our compassion. My feelings 
were at the time too strongly excited to be amused, though one, a bocker, or lame man, succeeded in clearing 
« space that he might give ray honor a dance, while " Piping Brady," an old, blind, white-headed man, "set 
up the pipea" to the exhilarating tune of " Saint Patrick's Day," which acted like magic upon the groupb 
" Poor Johnny, poor Jack," who had continued whirling round and round, keeping up his petition and singing 
it in every variety of tone, fixed, like Ixion, upon the wheel ; and as the decrepit creature jumped to the 
music with extraordinary rapidity, and flourished his crutch in the air, the wholo assembly seemed spelt- 
moved, the old men and old women beating time with their feet and sticks, and snapping their fingers at the 
conclusion of every bar, and the children, forgetful of their misery, dancing in right down earnest, their pale 
cheeks flushing with exercise, and their rags quivering about them. Digitized by 

J^earer to the door of the inn, stood a girl — I could hardly call her a woman — who had asked for charity 



REVIEW OF NEW BOO^^, ](45 



with tbt Client eloqueDce of her ejm, but bad neither preswd forward, nor been excited by the mnsic. Th^ 
hood of her long blue cloak waa ibrown over her head, and shadowed the upper part of her beautiful face; 
her eyee were mild and blue, they might have been bright once, but their luitre was dimmed by weeping f 
and her fair long hair hung uncombed, untrained, down either side of her face. There waa lomething so 
clMiic in her form, that it called to mind ibose Grecian raodelt, where the drapery clings so closely that yoo 
imagine it adheres to the form — the falling shoulders, the outline of the graceful back were distinctly mark- 
ed, and she had gathered the folds up in front to cover a sleeping infant, which she clasped to her bosom, so 
that the eloak, thus confined, fell in many and thick folds, nearly to her ankles, which, of course, were divest- 
ed of any covering. The bocher's dance was finished, and well pleased were the exhibitors to receive a 
silver sixpence between them— threepence for the piper, threepence for the dancer ; *' poor Jack, poor Johnny,'*' 
recosamenced his tune and whirl, and the beggars invented fresh miseries. 

" Why, then, 'twas a lucky drame I had last night brought me to the town to day!" exclaimed one of the 
score who followed us under the very porch, *'and maybe ye*d listen to itf— I dreamed I was down in the 
very bottom of a pay tee pit, and three magpies came flying over my head, and one, God save us ! was like 
the ganger that broke my husband by his lies, and the other was the very moral of that handsome gentleman f 
and, Buie, it's myself sees the likeness in your sweet self, lady, to t'other mag !" 

" A hole in your ballad !" exclaimed one voice — ^* A hole in yer manners !" shouted another—^' Liken » 
ihir-faced lady to a magpie, Jady !*' vociferated a third. 

" And why not ?" replied the impenetrable Judy, " why not f isn't a magpie a knowin* bird, and a handsome 
bird, and a fine bird I" 

** Tet ye said he was like the ganger, just now ;*' answered a little grey-eyed, cunning-looking man. 

** People may be like each other, and yet not the tame at all at all ; yon*ie like yer father, Tim, and yet he- 
vras six feet high. He was an honest roan, Tim. — Neighbors, dear," she continued, appealing to the crowd, 
*< do an of ye see any likeness betwixt Tim an' his father in that way f " There was a loud laugh, and Tim- 
shrunk behind, while Judy went on. ^ 

- Well, the last magpie said to me, says she, < Never heed the gauger,' (and sure I saw in a minute, it wasn'U 
a magpie at all, but yer darlint self was in it,) * for I'll give ye an English half crown to buy a blanket and 
linsey woolsey to make ye a petticoat' — what, God break hard fortune ! I've not had these five years." 

" Oh ! a penny, any way, lady dear ! to keep the could from my heart," roared another. 

*'There*s twopence for you," exclaimed my companion, " if you will promise not to drink it." *' Success!" 
exclaimed the fellow, catching the half-pence gaily in his hand, "I'll do that same this minute," and off he 
went to the whiskey shop, where unfortunately, three parts of the Irish spend what little they can obtain. 

We distributed perhaps mdre than we ought amongst the crowd, for which our worthy landlady reproved 
US ; while directing her maid, a slipslop, capless girl to dust every thiog in the house barring the pictures, 
which must not be touched, which she never would have touched since Ally Kelly rubbed out his reverence's 
Aose with her scrubbing-brush and cleanlinen. 

I have been often much astonished at the — not apathy, for that is the last fault the Irish can be accused o£ 
— indifiference manifested, particularly by the middling class of society, to the horrid misery of the poor. You 
cannot walk out in a country town without meeting at every turn a population of poverty. I have attempted 
to connf the beggars— I found it impossible — the barefooted creatures were without number— and yet th9 
shop-keepers and trades-people, nay, the greater part of the gentry, do not appear pained or distressed by the 
recurrence of such scenes as freeze a stranger's blood, and make him hasten to quit a country whore the 
degrading wretchedness of his fellow creatures seems to upbraid him for the indulgence of his smallest 
luxury. 

" Lord, ma'am," said the landlady, " we have fewer beggars in our country than in almost any other, and 
it is useless to attempt to suppress them or lessen their numbers ; they spring up like mushrooms. The men 
set off to make English hay. and gather in the English harvest, and then the woman shuts the door of her 
cabii), rolls her infant in her blanket, secures the blanket on her back by turning the tail of her gown over it .- 
the eldest girl carries the kettle, the eldest boy the begging bag, the middle ones have nothing to carry, and 
a ccsiple of younger children hang by the mother's cloak, and so they travel from place to place, and there's 
none of the farmers will refuse them a loci of straw to sleep on, a shed to sleep under, a mouthful of potatoes, 
or a dole of meal. They are much happier than they look, and by the time the winter closes in, why the 
husband comes home, and then they live maybe comfartable enough till the next spring, when the mother, 
with the addition most likely of another child to roll in the blanket, again shuu the door, and again wanders 
through the country, while the husband repeats his visit to England, where he is well fed, and well paid." 

" How wretched !" I exclaimed. 

'*I dare say it seems so to you, ma'am," she replied, " bat they are used to it— they do not feel it « dis- 
grace ; and many a fine man and woman is reared that way, after all." 

'* To what purpose 7" I almost unconsciously inquired. 

"Purpose," she repeated — as the Irish generally do when they hear a word whose import they do not 
clearly comprehend — ** why, as to purpose, the boys» in the time of the war, used to make fine soldiers — I* 
don'l exactly see what all the ' little garsoorW who are growing up now are to do— go to America, I suppose, 
or be^, or—" 

'•Starve!" I added. 

** Ay, indeed !" she replied, but without any emotion ; "so they do starve by dozens and dozens, up the 
country; and my husband says it's a sin to send so many pigs and things to England, and the poor craythura 
here without food." 

** And yet your provisions are so cheap ; I saw fine chickens to-day for eightpence a couple." 

" la it eightpence?" exclaimed the landlady in amazement, " Ah, lady dear, they knew you were a stranger 
—catch them asking me eightpence ! I could get the finest chicks in the market for sixpence-halfpenny a 
couple : eightpence indeed! Oysters are up to tenpence a hundred, and potatoes to twopence a stone — and 
more shame now that the country is poorer than ever — ^but what signifies the price, when the poor have not. 
it to give 7" 

** Bat why do they not work t" j^. ^. , 

"Who stays in the country, except one here and there, to give them worit'^OT rail's easy for the fine 
JEoglish folk to make laws for us," she added, her broad, good-humored face assuming a more animated ex- 



Z'' THB GBKTtBMAN'B MAGAZINE. 



'-^^Oiiac of uc 
prwiion ; " ii*a euy for them to make laws— ihey who have never heen with u*. and know i«w.^ . - - 
eicept from what's on the papers, which are done up by this party or that party, without any regard to trtitn ; 
only all for party." 

We passed through the town with not more than a sMre of beggars diosgling after us, and repeating their 
petitions in every variety of lone-^ilmisting ih«ir idiot and hal^starved children almost into our arms, making 
us eicecdingly angry at one minute by their importunity and noise, and the next amusing us so much by 
their wit and good temper, that we could bestow upon them half, nay, all our money with good will — at one 
time provoked by their dirt and indolenoe, and again sympathizing most sincerely with their poverty and dis- 
tress. You are perpetually excited either by displeasure, pain, or amusement, and you can hardly tell which 
preponderatea. 

After much jolting and delay, we pawed the suburbs, and there, beneath the trunk of a blasted tree, h^r 
entire figure shrouded in her cleuk, sat the girl whose appearance had atmcted my notice amongst the crowd 
on a ibrmer occasion. I could not see her face, even her hair was concealed by the hood which fell unto 
her knees ; but I fek assured I could not be nieiaken ; the rounded shoulder, the graceful sweep of the back, 
all convinced me I was right 

I ordered the servant to stop— I called to her,— there wa* no reply.— I sprtfng oiTthe car— I drew back the 
hood of her cloak,— -still die moved not, her hair had fallen like a shroud over her features, and upon the 
baby which was pressed to her bosom, — I threw back her hair, and laid my hsnd upon her forehead ; it was 
clanuDy and cold as with the damps of death! I attempted tb move her head buck, and, sinking on my 
knees, looked into her face — it was as the face of a corpse before the features have been decently compoaed 
by the band of the living ; the purple lips were parted, the teeth clenched, the eye fixed, the hollow cheek 
white as marbl%. I saw that the infant moved, and I tried to unclasp her arms from around ic — I Oven sue- 
ceeded in pulling the little creatoVe k some degree from her embrace ; but the mother's love was stronger 
than death ; rigid, lifeless as she appeared, she felt what I was doing ; her arms tightened round her baby, 
and her lips moved as if in speech ; the child cried, and clung to the bresBt from which it oonld draw no 
sustenance, and the miserable parent grasped it with an eamesttiess which almost made me tremble lest she 
should crush out its little life. The cloak had fallen from her ; bat f quickly drew it over her shoulders, fbr 
I perceived that she was entirely destitute of any other covering, except some tattered flannel that had been 
wound round her waist; the case was sufficiently plaiU'-^mother and child were dying of starvation. 

<* The Groves of Blarney," which, by the way, has been dramatized by the authoress for Power, the 
comedian, abounds with beautiful touches of natural poetry, used by the Irish peasantry in iheir daily phlife 
of speeeh. Indeed, the whole work belbre us teems with geiM of delieiouB purity<-« lew of whi^ w«> 
stiaet ait random :-«• 

'* Alice, you*re poor and penniless, and your mother's forced many a day to m< her poUttoH tc^ no $ok Ivl 
iht tears she sheds over four small children,'' 

An Irishman, who had his scanty stock of furniture seised for rent, remonstrates as follows with the officer 
who is about to include, in the inventory, the kish, a deep, wooden tray of general utility in the Irish cabins. 

" God bless ye !" he exclaimed, *' and don't take that-^il's nothing htU a kish ; it's not worth twopence to 
you — it's falling to pieces — but it*s more to me than thousand! ; iCs nothing hut a kish — but my eldest boy — 
he, thank God, that's not to the fore to see his father's poverty this day— he slept in it many a long night, 
when the eyes of bis blessed mother hadn't gotte among the bright stars nfheaven,hnt was here to watch over 
him; — it's nothing hut a kish — yet many a time little Kathleen croivrd nnd held up her .innocent head oiit of 
it to kiss her daddy ; it's nothing hvt a AwA^— yet many a day, in the middle of my slavery, have I, and my 
wile, (the blessed saints take her soul to glory!) and five as beautiful children as ever stirred a nuaCs heart 
in his bosomt sat round it, and eat the paytee and salt out of it, fresh and wholesome ; and whin I had my 
sis hSsseings to look on, it's little I cared for the slavery a poor Irishman is born to — it's nothing hut a AtcA— 
but it's been with me full, and it*s been with me empty, for many a long year, and it's used to me^it knows 
my troubles^ for since the bed was sould from under me, for the last gale^irent day)— what had I but to 
it to keep my head from the could earth ? — don't take it^— t'r's nothing hut a kish.'* 'There was a picture of 
misery aiid attachment— attachment and misery .'—yet " it was nothing but a kish !" 

A poor widow, wrongfully luspected, says, with much energy, " AU Wexford knows Tm poor — but the 
Almighty knows that lam honest /" Another helpless female is distressed " for the rint the craythur owes for 
a roof to brake her heart under.*' We hear of a Milesian Jeremy Diddler — **afeUow thats ready to skin every 
body's pyatee" A hard-hearted Orangeman is described as willing to « heat his oven with Catholic bones." 
A lover exclaims to hii sulky mistreas, " Put that pout off yer beautifhl mouth, its for all the world like a 
cobweb over a rose bush** 

The admirers of Daniel O'Connell are requested to read the following shrewd calculation of the great 
I utility. 



" Well, every dog muit have its day, as I said to Counsellor Dan's own body-man. * Excuse my ignorance,' 
says I, ' but I heard my master axing * What good your masther has done fbr Ireland yet V ' Cadiolic eman- 
cipation,' he says, quite glib. ' No, thank ye,' says I , ' sure that was before he got into parliament' * Oh, 
you mane since,' ssys he. ' Ah,' says I. < Why,' sayi he, ' you know Rome wasn't built in a day ; it takes 
time to get the better of his enemies ; he has a dale-— a great dale to do ; but you see when onct he brings 
the Ring to rason, and settles the House of Lords, and takes the shine out of the bishops, and gets a few more 
of his frinds and relations into the House of Commons, why thtn, ye understand, thin he'll have time to settle 
himself quiet, and easy, and comfortable, in some little {dace or other, with me — ^you understand, for his 
Miitre d'otUt and thin, my dear frind, you may deplod upon it, something considerable will be done for 
Ireland.' " 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 



145 



liiih polMow nre thm clusified :~ 

''Fanner's glory, red-noeed kidneys, white eyes, lady's fingers, Cork reds^ Connftught jumpers, Wicklow ban 
gen,aodCarrigaline beauties; to say nothing of the applea of &ilbouriahane,tbe whites of Derry-gortnacloghy, 
the cups of Knocknadrowsky, or the iei» of Ballynaboalathrasanagh." 

« Step, stop !" exclaimed Peter ; " Irish potatoes are terrible jaw-breakers." 

"No such thing," said Connor, **no such thing; thim are the potatoes that would crack their own cheeks 
with laughiog at ye. O then, how can yoa live at all in London, where the potatoes are made of wax, the 
aew eggs ool of oiild Irish ones, and the milk's pumped from the body of the earth, so that ye can't tell it 
fiom wiAer— batheishin !" 

" What's the meaning of bathenhin!" inquired Peter. 

"It's all one with nabauchlish," said Connor. 

" And what's nabauchlish ?" again asked the cockney. 

"It's just the same as— as — as," laughed Connor, ** as thurumpogue." 



We should like to see the IbllowiDg beautiful little poem fitted with a corresponding melody. 



Lullaby, lullaby! 
I have heard my own darling's first low cry. 
As I stood, and trembled, the chamber nigh ; 
My sad heart beat, as I breathed a prayer — 
The heart thai another was come to share ; 
Yet to take the part that we both could spare ? 

Lullaby, lullaby ! 



Lullaby, lullaby! 
But I heard my baby*s voice with a sigh.; 
The plant that gave birth to the bud might die ! 



With an aching heart I had heard my boy ; 
And I spoke in a tone that spoke no joy. 
Pray heaven, the babe is not sent to destroy ! 
Lullaby, lullaby! 

LuUahy, lullaby! 
But when the weak mother all sweetly sailed. 
And gave to my arms my awn living child^— 
She smiled, and I saw that my fears were vain*! 
Theugh its new-born voice m^ have tdd of paia, 
Twas muaic to me whan I heard it again ! 

Lulkby, laUaby ! 



THE MUSIC OP NATURE; o», AN ATTEBWT TO PROVE THAT WHAT IS PASSIONATE 
AND PLEASING IN THE ART OF SINGING, l»>EAKING, AND PERFORMING UPON 
MUSICAL INSTRUMJENTS, IS DERIVED FROM THE SOUNDS OF THE ANIMATED 
WORLD. WUh Cmiout and htUeretUng lUttwtratitms, by WiStom Gardiner. Boston. 

This very able and valuable work, reprinted fh>m the English edition of 1833, is an acoeptable addilioa 
to the libmiy of every bibliogcapher, to the shelves of the musical amateur and prafessor, lo the eabiaet of 
Iha levee of natmeyand tiM bureau of the man of soience. The varied natnte of the matter, and the exeel- 
taaoe of its mamier, demand our utmesr praise ; every known variety of nrasicai sound, the hitherto '* unwiit- 
Ml music" of nature, is here presented to our view, in chromatic form and phrase ; the history and propertiea 
of every musical instrument, the peculiarities of the vocality of every celebrated operatic perlbrmer, and the 
nre secrets of the " gay science," are exhibited in papular language and fulness of detaiL Anecdotal ittoi- 
tatfkms and liiitoiiiud laets are plemifiilly adduced ; and every page of the fifly-one ohaptem contains a mass 
of iatanalion pleasandy put forth. Besides the ahnost iniromemble instances of the cries of birds and ani- 
Mis reduced to scale» this desirable volume egatains nearly seventy pieces of scarce and popular music. 

The scarcity of new publications at the present time of the year, afibrds us an opportunity of preseBtiog a 
eottiderable quotation of entertaining matter from the pages of the Music of Nature. 

INSECTS. 

The sounds which insects produce are numerous and curious. It is, probably, not generally known, that 
the noises which are supposed to proceed from their vocal organs, are actually made by rubbing their legs 
toother, or by the motion of their wings. 

If we reflect far a moment upon that humming sound, which we hear from a cloud of insects overitead, ii^ 
t summer's evening, we oannot suppose it proceeds from the combined voices of beings, scarcely perceptible, 
bat that the buzz is the result of a motion, given to the air by the dances of these diminutive creatures. 

That keen efaserver, Mr^ White of Selbome, says, " I have ofben heard a sound like the humming of bees, 
though nai an iofaet is to be seen* You may heaf it the whole common ihi ough, from the mossy dells to my 
•tenue gate." 

Not undelightful is the ceaseless hum. 
To him who musing walks at noon.* 

It was on a hot summer's day that Beethoven sat upon a stile in the environs of Vienna, and caught from 
ntture these imitative sounds in the Pastoral Sinfony. How admirably do the violins, in that extraordinary 
oomposition, represent the soft flattering stir of the insects^-the hum in the noon-tide warmth of a summer's 
dkyi 

If we vratch the housefly, we shall soon be convinced that he is destitute of voice, and that the noise 

* The existence of tfiese diminutive creatures, who only appear in the evening* is said by Reaumur to ter- 
uliMLte before the dawn of day ; though short, it is a life of incessant pleasure. By naturalists they are now 
classed as choral flies, who congregate in millions, for the pleasures of music and the dance. ^^ LL 



146 



THE OENTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



proceedt from his wiogi ; eince, when at rest, he ii always silent This sound is inTariablf open the aole F 
in the first space >- 




To prodace this sound, the wings most soake three hundred and twenty vibrations in a second of time, or 
nearly twenty thousand if he continues on the wing for one minute. The hum of the honey-bee is the 
same; and the large humble-bee, the contra>basso of. the tribe, performs the same note just an octeTe 
lower:— 



Huber remarki that in every hive there are bees whose office it is to ventilate, and supply a coireat of 
-air throughout the apartments ; and this JM effected by ranks of fanners, who, in all the passes, keep up a 
constant tremulous motion of their wings. If the ear is placed on the outside of the hive, you may distinguish 
the meMO tones that emanate from this host of fanners, who shed a mellow music from their odorous wings^ 
which, on listening, will bo found to be in the key of F. 

The writer was once placed in the gallery of the Royal Exchange, to view that hive of money ooUecton 
in the court below. Besides the similarity of the scene, he could not but notice the similarity of sound, the 
buzz of the two thousand voices being perceptibly amalgamated into the key of F. Many observations have 
led the author to the conclusion, that the most prevailing sounds in nature are to be referred to thii key. Mu- 
sicians, though not aware of this curious fact, have from all time been sensibly influenced by it. Scarcely 
an ancient oorapoaition appears in any other key, except its relative minor, for the first hundred yean of the 

The lively note of the cricket is greatly admired by the country people ; their dull and silent evenioga m 
much enlivened by the chirp of this companion of the hearth. It oonsials of three notes in rhythm, alwaya 
filming a triplet in the key of B : — 



^ M-n-SL^^ 



This sound, according to Kirby and Spence, is produced by the insect rubbing his legs sharply togeAer. 

The grasshopper is of the same species, but his notft is less powerful. If we can believe what is related 
by the ancients of this delicate creature, as a race of musicians, they must have greatly degenerated. Plu- 
tarch tells us, that when Terpander was playing upon the lyre, at the Olympic games, and had enraptured 
his audience to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, a string of his lyre broke, and a cicada, or grsssbopper. im- 
mediately perched on the bridge, and, by its voice, supplied the loss of the string, and saved the fame of the 
musician. In Surinam the Dutch call ihem^ lyre-players, becaus^ the sound resembles thoae of a vibrating 
wire. Anacreon describes this creature as the emblem of felicity— ever young and immortal, the ofibpring 
of PhoDbiis and the darling of the Muses. The Athenians kept them in cages, for the sake of their song, and 
called them the nightingales of the nymphs. Ai in the case of birds, the males only sing; hence Xenarchua 
used to ascribe their happiness to their having silent wives.t 

Some of the soiallest insects send forth noises in the night-time, which may be distinctly heard. The 
death-watch is a sound resembling the tick of a watch, which proceeda from a small spider. In the dead 
of the night, its performance much annoys you when dropping asleep. A nice ear, by attentive listening; 
will determine that the sound proceeds from tuw insects, probably the male and female calling to each other; 
as the writer detected one to he on the note B flat, and the other on G :— 



The Call. 



I 



^Se^^ 



The Answer. 



^^^ 



7:979 



In the West Indiei^ the giant cockroach is a noted reveller when the family are asleep. He makes ■ i 
like a sn^art rapping of the knuckles on a table, three or four sometimes answering each other. On thia 
account he is called the drummer; and they often beat op such a row, that none but good sleepers can reat 
for them. 

The gnat, for his size, produces the most powerful and audible tone. He may be called the trumpeter 
of the insect orchestra. The clear and well-defined note which he makes, is on A in the seoood space. 




In the night-time, on waking out of sleep, I have, at first, taken it for the sound of a post-horn at a 
distance. Had the ancients referred his note to a corresponding string upon the lyre, we should have had 
a clue to some of their musical scales, which at present lie hid in mystery. Naturalisti dififer in opinion aa 
to the part of the insect which produces this sound. 



* In Queen Elizabeth's Virginal-book of four hundred folio pages, all the pieces are nearly confined to thia 
key. There is not an instance of a sharp being placed at the clef. t r^r^^\r> 

t Booth. r •*- Digitized by V^OOgie 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 



147 



The chapter on " London Cries," or street calls, is comically carious, but too local for our pnrpoie. We ee- 
lect a few instances from *' Exclamations," a chapter of peculiar worth. 

EXCLAMATION& 

The ear of the musician is constantly awake te every sort of sound, but none excite his attention more ihan 
the exclamations of the human voice — a class of sounds never noticed by the composers of a previous age 
We can scarcely turn over a page of Haydn, Mosart, or Beethoven, but we find traces of these passionate 
tones. In our conversation we often hear those expressions which delight us; but the sounds are too evanes- 
cent to be caught or readily set down in notes. In our deliberate exprosBions the tones are more decidedly 
and are easily represented, as in the common salutation — 



^&p 



How d'ye do 7 Pretty well thank ye. 



I^^ B ^ ff ^ ^^ 



How d*ye do ? Pretty well thank ye. 

Other excUmations, less sonorous, are all founded upon a musical phraseology; eren the grinacei under 
the dominion of Morpheus : 




Au ch, Au ch, Au ch. 

Haydn hu giren ns a more elaborate instance of yawning in his 57th QuartetL 



P-^ ?^ _^g=^ 



i 



Nor are we confined to simple expirations of this sort : we find the following specimen of an agreeable 
in the minuet of hia Eighth Grand Sinfonia— 



^^ j^=bs4.^ t 



«Qd in some other cpmpoeition of his, we find the following satisfactory cough- 




AmoDg those of a lea concordant nature, we may instance the brawling voicei of three penonf in i 
introduced by Beethoven in his Third Trio, Op. 9. 



f- f f 



Such a clatter of sounds indicate rage and ferocity: these tones escape us in the ebullitions of car wont 
paniona, and are heard in the savage murmurs of wild beasts. 

Human Cries. 

We take but little interest in the cries of animals, except those of our own species. Children have no 
difficulty in expressing their wants, their pleasures, and pains, by their cries, long before they know the^ use 
or meaning of a word ; and it is surprising to see with what energy they will evince the strongest passions. 
If we attend to these sounds, we shall soon discover what a fruitful source they have been, in giving hinte 
to the composer and musician. The following is the puling cry of a spoiled child— 

Adagio. 



S#g^&^{^t^3f^ 



* Thia and the next passage may be imitated by sliding the finger on the strings of a vlo]onceU<^ 



146 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



RMiini hm imitated the aobbing of a child in the pensive duet Ethere per mia memoria, in Qazsa. Ladrtu 



^fe^a^fe^i ^g^fe 



Madame de Stael iniofBrn us that Crocodilea imitate the cry of children so perfectly, as to allure and entrap 
their mothers. In the ibllowing strain we may notice the little spiteful voice of one child wantonly teasing 
another: — 




ya • e ya • e 



yae ya! 



The fugue in the overture to. the Zauherfloi«t is obviously taken from a petulant feeling of this kind. It is 
said of Mozart that he had a peevish wife— a lady hard to please, who frequently broke in upon his atudies, 
when in her waspish humor ; and it was in one of these freaks that he caught from Madame the singular 
subjectjpf this noted piece. The snatch upon the semiquavers is the very eieence of irritability. 



|^^m-l^^ *^ ^ {^^#S^ 



ya, ye, Ac. 
The following is of a more lugubrione cast— a peiaon weighed down with sorow and pain. 




Beethoven has adopted this as the motive of his Third Trio, Op. 9. The following inflection'of voice, ia the 
endearing tone of a mother fondling her child. 




This passage is elegantly interwoven in Haydn's Filly-Eighth Quartett 



CRIES OF ANIMALS, BIRDS, Sic. 



XHick. 



MlUllUI- "^-^ ffljijfcii ^^ 



kewak, " 



« « 



kewak, 



*f t< <i *'. «< 



Game 
Cock. 




Hen* 








z T r~{g: Caif ^^-p^gJ^tyv^Tj^r: z °~^ 



Elephant. SZt 



-^ >..! I II.. ^^ 



m 



X^Ej^^^T 



House £ll3: 



J-L-LJ^ 



B3 



s^ Digitized by 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE 



Vol. III. 



SEPTEMBER, 1838. 



No. S. 



HOPES AND RECOLLECTIONS OF EGYPT. 



' Snggietted b7 the eirevmnances of its present History. 



A voics of joy to thrill the tropic tkiet ! 
The riuinberiDg tlavea of cent ur let arise. 
The youDgeet bom of liberty have caught 
The fire their fathere' hearts too long forgot, 
And Egypt liYes again ! That wondrous clime, 
Whose records trace the history of time, 
The world's coeval, the eternal shore 
Of elder mystery and hallo w'd lore, 
Hath risen as once* hath borne a race of men. 
Dares to be free — and Egypt lives again ! 

A voice of joy to hail the chief whose sword 
Drove to their gorgeous den the turbanM horde ; 
Chased with unpitying hand, untaught to yield. 
Their warriors to the harem from the field. 
Where Acre rears to heaven the sculptured mosque, 
Or decks in gayer hues the soft kiosk, 
(Acre twice known to British fame !) and where 
Lone Jaffii slumbers in the Syrian air. 
There, fearless minister of freedom's work. 
Bold Ibrahim saw and smote the craven Turk ; 
There traced his pathway in the blood he shed, 
Elect avenger of the deathkss dead ! 
Redeemed the franchised land, whose teeming soil 
Bore every delegated despot's spoil, 
From Goth to Saracen, till Ibrahim came 
To win the world's instructress back to fame ! 

Time's noblest epoch! the exulting mind 
Springs on the wings of fancy unconfined. 
Interprets coming ages ere they roll, 
And scans a part, and dares to dream the whole ; 
Binds with the annals dark of Egypt's tears 
The fond creations of Imagined years, 
And reading in her first her future age, 
liinks Mehemet with Sesostris on her page ! 

Visions indeed ! but visions that can swell 
The glowing breast with heav A -descended spell ,* 
Visions whose airy world of thoughts sublime 
Can fill all space, can people every time. 
Ours be such visions ; be one nobler hour 

^OL. ui. Q 



Won from dull sense, and sacred to that Power- 
Whatever it be^that rules with soft control 
The spectre*haunted twilight of the soul ! 

And lo ! the Spirit wings its mystic way 
To deserts wild, and towers with ruin gray ; 
Pauses beside the hallo w'd banks of Nile, 
Or hails Osiris in his magic isle,* 
Where ceaseless verdure wreathes the roofless wall. 
And ruin holds bis fairest festival, 
Shrouded in flowers ! or where alone, outspread* 
Camac, the desert-temple of the dead, 
Sees her eternal pillars as they stand 
Unmouldering merge and lessen in the sand, 
While on and on the steps of luin press 
To shroud the wonder of the wilderness ! 
Or where, beneath the blue Gud dazzling skies, 
UnthronM and mute the Son of Morning lies; 
Unheard that voice divine whose magic lay 
Wooed the young light just blushing into day. 
While those who heard the soft uneartlily tone. 
Dreamed that a spirit hvcd within the stone. 
The breezy murmurs of whose notes were given 
To eanh in echo of the lyres of heaven ! 
Or turns my saddening soul whence Egypt piled 
Her hundred-portal'd city of the wild ; 
Turns it from that lone i^lace of nameless things, 
Relics of palaces and tombs of kings — 
Tombs, like their tenants, crumbled into duft. 
The crypt, the urn, the pedestal, the bust. 
Fragments luxuriantly o'ergrown, and hid 
In nature's verdant shrine of leaves, amid ' 
Acanthus wreathed in many a graceful fold, 
Cactus, and bean tree hung with cups of gold, 
And gleams of roses through the living greeo. 
Whose pale sad hue beseems the sadder scene ! 
The shattered obelisk, the rnin'd wall. 
The broken archway nodding to its fall, 



• PhU»edby(^OOgle 



150 



THE gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



Temple, and theatre, and gotgeoiu dome— 
The tiger's or the fiercer Arab's home-^ 
Forests of sphinies, giant shapes that seem 
The monstrous phantoms of some fevered dream, 
And colonnades, that stretch beyond the gaze 
Far o'er the waste in many a winding maze, 
The skeletons of cities led to stand 
In ghastly silence on the silent sand. 
As if those voiceless monitors should say — 
Such were the glories of the elder day. 
Such were the meni the happy, wise, and free, 
That framed these columns for eternity ! 
Suoh was their glory^ueh their skill divine ; 
And, Egypt, Egypt, such may yet be thine ! 
Yes, from ihese spectres of the desert fly 
The wandering wings of Her whose restless eye 
Beholds the world through some diviner air 
Transpicuous, grovelling sense can never share. 
Fancy that sees, and, seeing, re-creates. 
Till love's bright form emerges out of hate's. 
Beauty from dark deformity, and life 
From death's cold image, victress in the strife ! 
Fancy ! that borrows, like yon witching moon. 
Light from the orb of truth's eternal noon. 
And brings us, mellow'd to a tenderer ray, 
The soft reflection of a vaoish'd day, 
The future moulding, and the past with this 
Mingling, till hope and memory melt to — bliss ! 
Yes, from these mighty monuments, that stand 
Unwrought, as fables tell, by human band, 
But based amid the wide wild solitude 
By demon architects in mirthful mood. 
Or scorn, or idlesse, or in bitterer hoar 
When fettered to that rebel, despot's power, 
Whom mightier Eblis chained I — those spires of stone, 
Huge, mystic, towering, terrible, and lone, 
As barren oaks heaven sea th'd, of giant breadth. 
Stand bare and blasted on some wither'd heath! 
From that mute city in whose pillar'd square 
Are thousands throng'd, yet not a voice is there! 
Congeal'd to stone its marble myriads lie. 
The spectral forms of lost humanity ! 
From foaming cataracts, to whose sacred wave 
His gems and gold the Abyssinian gave, 
While undismay'd, in shallop frail and light. 
He dared the whitening gulf and dizzy height. 
Till far beneath, as smooth as summer sea, 
The waves die oflfin bright tranquillity. 
And tortur'd where the fall in foaming leap 
Scoops an abyss below the turbid deep, 
And banners bright of streaming lustre flings — 
Creep to their placid bed like weary things ! 
From Phils's granite cliffi and ruin'd shrine. 
And altars hallow'd still, and once diVTne, 
Its margin gemmed with wrecks antique o'erlaid. 
With Nile's white lotus and the palm-tree,shade, 
Glass'd in the dimpling river ! From that fount 
Of famed Syend of the marble mount. 
In whose deep mirror, from the noontide sky, 
The sun beheld his own immortal eye 
Flash the responsive beam, while tower and tree 
Lay sleeping tkadowUM and silently ! 
From these— for here not yet the soul hath ibond 



The one, the chosen, consecrated ground— 

Courses the mind in this exulting hour, 

Fired with that inborn consciousness Of power. 

The native force, the essential influence. 

That liAs her from the dull domain of sense. 

Yes ! springs aloft the struggling fire of mind. 

That sense can cloud, can dim, can never hind. 

As Boreal lights still fly the horizon's verge. 

Still float o'er heaven in many a lustrous surge. 

Still as they wander, tremblingly aspire 

To pierce the Zenith with their darts of fire ! 

On through the varying scene careers the soul, 

With Nile*s eternal waters as they roll, 

Nor pauses in her course. Not even the glooms 

Of Luxor's portal'd halls and hill of tombs, 

Nor Dendereh wins her, where with ruin strewn 

It rears its arch'd magnificence of stone, 

As if to pierce the dazzling skies. And yet, 

Unchang'd it stands, end time seems to forget 

Or pity its old splendors. Yes ! 'twas here 

The sage engraved the story of the year. 

In emblems dark of mystic lore, and sought 

To shroud from eyes profane the lofty thought. 

And here, from year to year, from age to age. 

Mid change and chance the labors of that sage. 

Safe in the scorn of Arab thief or turk — 

As if the time it pictured, spared the work — 

Lay still a wondrous whole ! Nor turns astray 

The obedient fancy from her watery way. 

Even to that garden of the wilderness 

That soothes the desert caravan's distress. 

Blooming Elcarge ! blooming still, though flown 

That old Ammonian Jove who reared his throne 

Here in this lonely Eden of the wild — 

The sire of nature shrined where nature smiled 

To gratulate his presence, and poured forth 

Those gorgeous forms that spurn the frigid north { 

Acacia, tamarisk, and graceful palm, 

Olive and date, and yemen's fragrant balm. 

And lais* heart-shaped fruit of odorous smell, 

That bowed to Christ, as olden legends tell ! 

These shroud its ruin'd temples, and o'erspread 

All, save those gloomy chambers of the dead 

That crowd its excavated hill, and give 

Warnings in emblems mute to those who live ! 

The emblems of triumphant faith— the dove 

That speaks of peace, the cross that speaks of love ; 

For Christians slumber here ! The Copt, who brought 

The Gospel treasure to his deserts, wrought 

These rudely sculptur'd symbols of his trust. 

And dying, gloried in his deathless dust! 

Nor even A rsinoe's bright land of rose. 

Whose perfum'd winds its treasur'd sweets disclose, 

Delays the hovering fancy. Fair Faynoom, 

Whose fragrant wealth are odours and the bloom 

Of nature's loveliest flower ! Delicious trade. 

Where even the transient labor is o'erpaid 

By its own sweetness ! Such the commerce given 

By dreaming bards to some imagined heaven. 

Or earthly Paradise of fruit and flower. 

Where nature wreathes one univeral bower ! 

Nor yet the relics of that wondrous maze. 

The twelve bright palaces, the winding wtyL> 

Digitized by * ^IV: 



HOPES AND REC0LLBCTI0N8 OF BGTPT. 



151 



Within whose dark and sabCemne receai 
Tbadiut of monarcha slept in loneliaess! 

From these — from all— though all alike are fraught 
With charms unutter'd of associate thought— 
Still fliee the unwearied spirit, till at last 
Her silvery path of waters almost past, 
The goal is gained — she stands upon the plain, 
Where Egypt's genius holds his mightiest reign» 
She stands before those monuments sublime 
That tower to heaven— the altar-stenes of time, 
The pyramids ! where still triumj^ant art 
Dared to enact eternal nature's part, 
And built for ages infinite ! Alone, 
Couched in their lengthened shade, my fancy's throne 
Is raised ; yet not alone ! for eenturies roll 
Their tide of wonders on ray burthenM souL 
The past is peopled— host on host arise — 
I see, I hear, with other ears and ayes ; 
The dim grows bright, the clouded Yisiong clear, 
And distant phantoms circling gather near. 
As sunhright clouds at ere our fancies mould ' 
To temples, towers, of crimson and of gold; 
WhOe darker masses in the eastern sky 
Blacken to fiends and scare the dreaming eye. 
The witchery works, the magic of the place 
Calls many a royal child of many a race 
Crownless, unsceptred, to my reverie ! 
And whence t Behold the dark immensiry 
Of yon gigantic monument! Beneath 
That granite Athis was their home of death : 
There sleep their ashes where an earthquake's throes 
Ak>ne shall shake their stilluess of repose! 
Silent they stand, and slowly point around. 
And mutely ask — Is this not Memphian ground ? 
There stand the pyramids, the sphinx is there ; 
But whero is Memphis— deatLless Memphis where f 
Where is the city of Eternity- 
Queen of an hundred nations, where is khe ? 
Alas! evanished as a dream. Alas— • 
Where xs she ? Travellers know not whero she was / 
Foor ahades ! once tenants of a vanish'd throne, 
Tour boaadiess power, year deathless deeds unknown, 
Your very names, the talismans of old, 
The lore of centuries has scaroely told : 
Nor live ye save in dreams like this that shed 
An hour's ideal lustre on the dead. 
—Shapes of old regal glory sorrowing come, 
With eyea unlustrous, lips for ever dumb. 
Pharoaha and Ptolemies, and mightier far, 
Proud aa when harness'd monarchs drew his car, 
Uplifle hia trembling hand and sightless eyes 
Sethoe of old, recalls the past, and sighs ! 
Misraim is here, Busiris, and the shade 
Of impious Fheron, and of him who laid 
In blood and tears the base of yonder pile,* 
And Nechoe, who essay 'd to wed the Nile 
With that Arabic deep whose dread abyss 
Yawn'd for the chariots of Amenophis I 
When whelming myriads in its thundering fall» 
The God of Naturoloos'd lie watery wall 
That hung tneumbent o'er his reacued race, 

- 
* Cheops. 



And gave the waves their ancient dwelling-place* 

And millions for their proy ! And, darker ftfrm I 

The vengeful victim of the desert storm, 

O'erwhelra'd Cambyses! Kindling at the sight 

Fancy hath seized the whole, — that hideous night» 

At noonday, on the bUlowy wilderness. 

The shriek*, the wailing of their mad distress. 

The desert rous'd beneath its fell Simoom, 

Slaying, at once, the murderer and the tomb! 

The wind low booming with a long-drawn howl 

Of triumph gloomier than the savage growl 

Of wolves above their prey; Or like the tone 

The desert-ghoul might utter when liis lone 

And pathless realm of horrors was aasaii'd ; 

—The struggles wild and fierce till fate prevail'd* 

And then the mutter'd curse half-choked ; and then 

The soundless, sullen desert, once again ! 

Vanish, these phantoms, fancy ! from the scene. 

And paint me fairer visions— as serene 

As yon calm moon, whose rise I seem to view 

O'er Egypt's groves and skies of dazzling blue, 

Hail'd from Canopus to the green Nile's mouth 

The bright Bubastian Dian of the south ! 

Tbat now seems scaling yon tall pyramid. 

Now cloudless in the heavens, now faintly hid. 

Gazing with dove-eyed glance of peace ! Behold ! 

The enchantress cries, and lo ! the bright of old : 

Luxurious Memphis, Sais, and gorgeous On, 

The golden- templed city of the Son ; 

To whose rich shrine the bird of thousand dyes, 

Leaving its fragrant nest of spices, flies ; 

And bears its load of precious ashes thero ; 

Then spreads alofl, and wings the gladsome air. 

The beauteous tenant of the balmy breeze. 

Sole in the earth, a life of centuries! 

I see the white-stoled priest, the sacred rite. 

The worshipp'd bird, the garb of solemn white. 

The graceful Isiac dance : Hist the sound 

Of cymbals beating their melodious round. 

While shakes its plumes the bird upon the shrine. 

And seems too lovely not to be divine ! 

I see the mirror'd girls, a dark-eyed train, 

Wreath'd with the lily of the Nile, whose plain 

Nurses these loveliest infants of the spring, 

While from the dome huge lamps of Naphtha fling 

A radiance that but glimmers from on high, 

So vast the temple's giant symmetry ! 

The scene is changed ! No longer voice of mirth. 

But some dusk solitude beneath the earth, 

Lifeless and voiceless as the forms that gaze 

With eyes that wear the mocking diamond's blaze* 

Around its walls. In gloomy ranks they stand. 

Shrouded in spectral garb— a dismal band — 

Unbreathing images of life ; as 'twere 

That all in this eternal land should share 

Its immortality, the very dead 

Are deathless ! Or, escap'd to light, I tread 

The dark Necropolis, the place of tombs, 

Whero' the dim smother'd ray but half illumea 

The plantain and the yellow asphodel. 

The mournful verdure that delights to dwell 

Around the homes of death ! Or, pleas'd, mine ear 

Delights the reUcs of old faith to hearOQ IC 



152 



THB GBNTLEMAN^fr MAQAZINB. 



The bright traditions treacuiod, of that truth 

That onee illumed ihe world's aospiciDoi youth: 

The sole paternity of God,^the bright 

Belief oonceard in snigmatic rite 

Of mind's eternal essence. Yea— to see 

That symbol of eternal Deity, 

The mystic Isle, as her statue stood 

Inscribed in Sais' templed solitude*— 

" I am what is, what has been, what shall be ; 

Kone yet hath raised the veil that circles me !" 

Or hear bright legends of the treasure hid— > 

The Emerald Tablet— in the pymmid ! 

Or thrice great Hermes, on whose wondrous stone 

The secret depths of wisdom were foreshown ; 

Or» stranger slill, — on crystal shrinea to view 

The mystic cross prophetically true. 

Eternal life predicted in the sign 

That told, unknowing told— its amoim divine! 

Or join that festival of gloomy glee, 

Where horror came to heighten revelry, 

And the grave sent its habitant to own 

That lile so brief is due to bliss alone. 

Stem monitor of pleasure to abide 

Where joy ran highest and hy beauty's aide ! 

What thoughts were her's, were his, whose eye might 

rMt, 
When the song paused, upon that spectral guest f 
When the light-hearted laughter ceased a while. 
Did she who sought it smiling, keep that smile f 
Did no misgiving whisper that the hour . 
Was set, for more than waste, in human power f 
A form whose terrors were not of the earth 
Still bring but Argument of vulgar mirth? 
Alas ! we know not. ^fwere no novel art 
To tarn aside the channels of the heart, 
To read life's lessons, and to learn from them,^ 
Not what they teach, but what they roost condemn ; 
To draw from purest air corrupted breath. 
To drink from living wells the draught of death : 
Nor marvel that the wilful breast of man 
Found idiot triumph in his fleeting span, — 
That sophists, proud of error, wise by guess, 
Wrung from deep thought a creed of thoughtlei 

But all is past,— past; 'tis the fearful word 
In the dread silence of the desert heard. 
The gloomy tone that thrills the idle waste, 



They 



Echoed from tottering temples, towers defaced. 

From relics that themselves are waning fast, 

For each day robs the present of the past^— 

The ruins of old ruin ! There are climes 

That wear, to those who feel, no present times ; 

To those whose eye can pierce the cloud, and see 

Where the hoar genius of antiquity 

Cowers 'mid his crumbling shrines, and bows aaguat 

A brow defiled with consecrated dust ; 

The sceptre broke— the regal mantle rent : 

The reverend form in sorrow mutely bent. 

Yet grand in its prostration ! Those who feel 

As men should do, where men have lived, will kneel 

Awed by the genius of a kmd whose whole 

Wide sidiere but forms one temple of the soul! 

To such, the silence of deserted halls 

Speaks louder than their pomp of festivals; 

To such, the silence of the sandy plain. 

Unbroken save by some lone camel*traio. 

Speaks mightier than its perish'd empire ! 

Who thus can steer through time a pensive way. 

Who walk in aU the glory of the past. 

Yet read the moral from the present oast,—* 

Lei sudk approach where lom Athena weeps^ 

Where Rome, half deaert, in her marshes sleepa ; 

But better still, let him whose gifted ear 

Time's hymn of oenloriea aspires lo hear. 

With us, old Egypt's haUow'd scenes among. 

Catch ihe firti pretudes q[ that wondrous song ! 

Enough of reverie! but if brighter gleama 
Of hope, ere yet we fold our web of dreams. 
Illume their close, will sterner minds restrain 
Desiring fancy from that happier vein ? 
Unshroud the futnre, Hope I A day may come 
To guide Instruction to her early home. 
On faded grandeur lustre new to shed. 
To wake the sleeping, to revive the dead ! 
We've traced the glories of the land whose skiea 
First saw the sun of dawning science rise ; 
Alas! the world liath seen those glories set, 
Mourn'd the long night of gloom that shrouds her yet ; 
But hope, fair hope, the prophet of the heart. 
Wins from the past with fond dissuasive art. 
And smiling points to where a crimson ray 
Tints the glad East, and tells of coming day ! 

W. A. R 



TO MISS 



BY AN ARTIST. 



Before I saw thee, maid divine! 

I tested beauty by the graces 
That swept thro' sweet Conegio's line, 

Or dwelt in Goido's heav'nly ftoes. 



But now Corregio's graceful curves, 
Aod*Guido's fine ei^esrion oateh it; 

Thy beauty, as my standard serves^ 
And they, alas! have none to match it j 
Philadelphia. Digitized by VjOOQIS. 



8BLLING A NIOOER. 



153 



SELLING A NIGGER. 

(An Incident which oecimed tt the Fint Landing^ of the Engliih Settlers M Algoa Bay.) 



FROM A WORK NOW IN THE FRE88. 



Among the rest of the crew who were led for ship 
duty, was a topiuan, named Blaclt Tom. He waa a 
tall, athletic negro, who, at a yeryearlj period of life, 
had been taken from the Gold Coast of Africa; stow- 
ed, with a number of others, into the hold of a slaver, 
carried to the West Indies, and sold to a sugar planter 
of St Domingo. He had not, however, been long in 
the service of his new roaster, when an English navy 
captain, who happened to be on a visit at the planta- 
tion, took a fancy for him, purchased him, gave him 
his freedom, and carried him on board his ship, as a 
cabin boy. '^ 

From this period, Tom*8 life had been devoted to 
the sea. He had served on boaid a great variety of 
ships, and was, at last, entered on the books of the 
Hesperos. He was an excellent seaman ; completely 
up to his duty ; clever, active, and a very dare-devil 
for courage. There was a mixture of ahre wdneas and 
simplicity in his disposition, which formed an inex- 
haustible fund of amusement to his comrades ; and, 
though his temper was fiery and passionafe when 
roused, sueh waa his extreme good nature, that, of all 
the jokes that were passed off on him, he toldom took 
any amiaa; nor did he seem, indeed, to have the 
slightest notion that he himself waa the butt at whom 
they were directed. 

Among his messmates, Tom was a great favorite ; 
and, although they all conaidered him as legitimate 
game among themaelves, they would not have aeen 
him injured by any third party. His chief failing was 
his great addiction to grog ; but liquor, instead of ex- 
citing, aeemed rather to lull his fiery poaalona. When 
fairly iitfoucated, he would fall from his aeat like a 
lomp of inanimate flesh ; his aenaes ao completely 
drowned that one might almoat have atretched him 
en the rack, or fired a cannon at hia ear, without pro- 
daeing any aigns of conaciousness. When he awoke 
Um. thia death like sleep* he was generally perfoetly 
leooveted ; but of all that had occurred to him during 
his debauch, not a trace remained upon hia memory. 

One morning, aoon afler captain Morley had gone 
00 board on hia daily visit. Black Tom and Richard 
WoUe, the latter of whom had recently been promo- 
tod to the dignity of boatawain's-mate, came to We- 
thenll, and asked for leave to go on shore, for the 
parpoae, they aaid, of witneaaing a wrestling match, 
and other gymnastic games, that were to take place 
that forenoon among the%ew colonists. As captain 
Motley never refused his men any reasonable indul- 
ganoe, their request waa at once granted, and they set 
off together in high glee. 



The day was bright and breezy, the wrestling 
ground well aelected, and the players good. Almost 
all Canvass Town had turned out to see the sport, and 
Tom and Wolfe took their places among the multi* 
tude. 

Six wrestlers entered the ring, and they were pitt- 
ed against each other, three to three ; the one party 
distinguiihed by a black ribbon tied round the wrisC^ 
the other by a red. When stripped, the proportiona 
which these men exhibited gave promise of excellent 
sport; they were all remarkably atrong and muscular. 
Two of the red ribbons, in particular, were perfectly 
coloaaal ; and the great breadth of ohest, the Heron- 
lean fullness of neck, the aolidiiy of limb, and mais^ 
iveneas of arm which they displayed, were palpable 
evidences of their prodigious strength. 

As was anticipated, these two men speedily threw 
their antagonists; and, the game of the third conpte 
being declared drawn, they renwined aecoidingly the 
vlclom of the field. The air resounded with the 
plaudits of the multitude,* and .tha two eonqueion 
bore their honon Tauntingly enough. 

One of them, in particular, when the stakes he had 
won were put into his hand, tossed up into the air Ibe 
bag which oonlmned the money, and declared he 
would give it to any ene present who would stake 
half the sum, and give him one fWl for two. Nobody; 
however, vm daring enough to answer the challenge^ 
and the wrestler kept chucking up his purse, as if te 
tempt some one to the match. " 

«* 1 say, Tem," said Wolfe to his neighbof, «< I've a 
great mind to try him." 

«* Him dam stfong,*' r^died Tonh with a noBitDr^ 
shake of the head* 

<* Devil take his strei^th ! I've given a fall to a 
bigger man than he." 

** Him purse dam heavy," continued Tom. 

« Ay, that's just the diflSculty ; but I'll stake all the 
money I have about me, and let him stake eqoaL" 

w Dure no one come to the scratch ?** cried the taU 
wreetler, once more chucking up hia puree. 

''I accept the challenge!" cried Wdfe, jumping 
into the ring. 

His antagonist eyed him attentively for a moment ; 
then, throwing his purse upon the ground, ** Slake 
your money," he said ; " there are twenty dollars!" 

** I have only Ar^ dollars," said Wdfe ; " but I'll 
stake them against five of yottr's, and play you fidlfor 
fall." 

** A done bargain '." cried-the wrestler, taUag iq» 
his money from the ground, and counting £▼• doUaw 



154 



THB GBNTLBUAN^S MAGAZINE. 



into the hands of the etake-holder. Wolfe followed 
his example, and paid over the stipalated •am. 

The match was long and well-contested, but fortune 
mt last declared in favor of our boats wain's-mate. He 
gave his opponent five falls for four, and carried off 
the stakes amid the applauding shouts of the specta- 
ton. 

The ground was now cleared for a race ,* which 
was to be run for an open sweepstakes of three dol- 
lars. Wolfe entered himself amongst the rest ; and 
he showed that his agility was equal to his strength, 
hy distancing all his corapetitors, and bearing off ihe 
prize, which amounted to thirty dollars. 

Elated with success, and with the prospect of grow- 
ing rich in so pleasant a way, the doughty boatswain's- 
mate now entered himielf for the next sweepstakes ; 
'which were for the high leapi This game was in- 
imitably contested ; but, one by one, the competitors 
gave in, and the prize at last lay between Wolfe and 
one of the new colonists, a limber- looking young En- 
glishman. 

The bar stood at five feet two, and both the com- 
petitors cleared it cleverly. 

"Put it up to five feet four!" cried Wolfe. The 
hn was accordingly raised, and again they both topped 
it in beautiful style. 

** Make it five, six !*' cried the young Englishman ; 
and, when the bar had been moved to the required 
notch, he threw himself over it, apparently with very 
little eflbrt 

Wolfe, however, in making his spring, slipped upon 
the turf, struck the bar with his foot, and sent it spin- 
ning before him into the air. His antagonist was de- 
clared conqueror, and carried off the prise. 

** Ton leap well, friend," said Wolfe, when he saw 
Ihe money which he had reckoned upon as his own, 
paid over to the other ; " but, had I not slipped, you 
wpuld not have won so easily. Have you any ob- 
jection to try again f 

** None!" replied his antagonitt « What do you 
■taker 

«* Thirty dollars !" said Wolfe. 

** Done r* replied the other ; and they each deposit- 
ed the stipulated sum with the stake-holder. 

This second match naturally excited great interest. 
Both competitors were evidently first-rate leapers; 
and, for men in their rank, the stake was an import- 
ant one. 

The bar was 'placed at five feet two, and it was 
nised inch by inch, both clearing it each time, till it 
stood at five feet nine. The previous height was evi- 
dently just about as much as either could accomplish ; 
and it was thought that this lest move would prove 
decisive. 

The young Englishman came first ; and, having at- 
tentively surveyed his ground and measured his dis- 
tance, he took his start warily, left the turf with a 
clean spring, and cleared the bar within a hair's 
l>readth. * 

Wolfe, conscious thot he had no common antagonist 
to deal with, felt that it would now be necessary to 
exert himself to the utmost. He oonsidered his ground 
carefully ; took in his distance with a practised eye ; 



advanced, with a light springy step, and left the turf 
cleverly. But the height was more than he was equal 
to; he struck the bar with the heel of hit right foot, 
and it fell broken to the ground. 

" Devil take my awkwardness I" he growled, as he 
letsurely resumed his jacket ; and, without taking far- 
ther notice of any one, he left the ground, accompa- 
nied by Black Tom. 

*'Hjm leap dam well!" said Tom, after thejT were 
clear of the crowd. 

"All chance!" growled Wolfe. "But he might 
have leaped as high as the steeple of Strasburg for 
me, if he had not canied off my thirty dollars !" 

"Ah! him nebber care," replied Tom. "Easy 
come, easy go !" 

" Very well for you to speak, you black-faced nig- 
ger ! How would you like to lose thirty dollars your- 
self?" 

" Him nebber hab thirty dollar to lose !" replied 
Tom, in a most pitiable tone of voice. 

" Poor devil !" said Wolfe, " I believe you. But 
never mind, Tom," he continued, '* never mind, my 
lad ! Tve still four shiners left ; and we'll drink thenr, 
Tom; d — n me, we'll drink ihem, my boy!" 

To this grateful proposition, Tom cordially assented ; 
and they adjourned together to a small tent in the 
outskirtti of the encampment, where a Dutchman, 
named, according to his sign-board, Adrian Hendrick 
Van Stroyk, entertained all comers, for their money, 
at the sign of the Angel. 

Liquor was soon produced, and the two messmatea 
commenced their potations in earnest, without troo- 
bling themselves much with conversation ; Wolfe be- 
ing chagrined and gloomy at having lost his money; 
aad Tom being no great talker, when the preaence of 
the spirit flask afl&rded him a more agreeable oocupa* 
tion for his colloquial organs. 

With a little round table between them, they sat 
opposite to each other, in the most friendly and har- 
monious attitude; emptying glass after glass, with ex^ 
emplary diligence ; till, towards evening, the liquor, 
which was that horrible compound denominated Cape 
brandy, began sensibly to operate upon them. 

Tom, in particular, was evidently going very fiMt 
His eyes began to roll ominously in their sockets; the 
muscles of the under part of his face became relaxed; 
the comers of his huge mouth hung downwards ; and; 
at last, he fairly fell from the bench on which he'waa 
sitting, in a state of mortal intoxication. 

Wolfe, however, was not so easily subdued. He 
still kept his upright position ; and threw, from time 
to time, towards his prostrate companion, a look of the 
most sovereign contempt. 

"Dt— n him for a drunken lubber!" he growled 
forth ; " he has no more head than a tallow candle. 
Bat, after all, what can one expect of a nigger ! Myn- 
heer," he continued, calling to the host, "bring me 
another stoup, will ye; and, look ye, put a little dry 
straw beneath that poor fellow's head, to keep him 
from the cold ground." # ^ 

The straw and liquor were brought as desired; and 

I Wolfe commenced his potations systematically, ta 
while away the time till his comrade awoke. 



SBLLINO A NIGOBR, 



155 



He had not been long in thit •ituation when a new 
CQitomer entered the booth, in the shape of a Cape- 
Dutch boor,- a itoat, roguish-looking fellow, with a 
bRwd-brimraed hat on his heed, a long tobacco-pipe in 
his month, and a soiled blue linen '* kittel" covering 
his person, as low as the knee. 

" Dis von fine evening. Mynheer !" he said to Wolfe, 
as the landlord placed a pot of beer for him upon the 
table. 

Wolfe, who had been making rapid progress with 
his additional stoup, and did not find his tongue alto- 
gether obedient, replied by a lurch of the head, in- 
tended for a nod ; to which he added an extremely 
inarticalate ** Very /*' 

" Ha .' whom we hab here V* continued the boor, 
observing poor Tom, with his straw pillow, on the 
floor. 

** Drunk !— lubber !" muttered Wolfe, turning his 
flushed, sleepy eyes, in the direction of his prostrate 
comrade. 

" Drunk ! 3^, very right Bot he is von dam strong 
nigger, do', for all dat !" and he very leisurely pro- 
ceeded to finger the gigantic limbs of the unfortunate 
Tom ; much in the same manner as a grazier fingers 
the ox he is about to purchase. 

He now drew in a bench, and set himself down 
opposite to Wolfe, whom every fresh pull at the can 
was bringing nearer and nearer to a state of utter un- 
consciousness. Being totally incapable of compre- 
hending the tenor of the various questions and remarks 
addressed to him by the boor, he either left them un- 
answered, or responded at random with a gruff drawl- 
ing " Very," 

The wily Mynheer, seeing him in this state, thought 
it a good opportunity for driving a cheap bargain, for 
the transfer of the carcase of the unlucky Tom ; who, 
being young and strong, he well knew would bring, 
at least, three hundred dollars in the market. He ac- 
cordingly broached the subject, by asking Wolfe what 
he considered the negro's value. , 

*' How moeh you tink dat nigger vorth, eh t'' said 
he; "fifty thaler for him is nitfeil, eh? fifty dallar 
very goot price, you tink ? You tink se, eh ?" he con- 
tinued, pressing the unconscious Wolfe for an an- 
swer. 

Wolfe, who did not understand a word that he said, 
responded as usual — ** Very.** 

** Denn ven you sell him, I vill gib you fifty thaler ; 
you no gat so mosh anodcr time. Vill you sell him, 
eh f Vat for yon no speak ? Ven you tink it goot 
price you vill sell him, eh ? Vill you no antwort me 7 
You tink fifty thaler very goot price,' eh t" 
Thus pressed, Wolfe once more responded, " VeryV 
* Denn I vill him kaupen ; you verstah ? I vill buy 
him — I hab das gelt here vid me !" and he polled a 
huge leathern bag from his pouch, and counted out 
fifty dollars upon the table. 

Wolfe, who, half-sleeping, half-waking, was seated 

with his side towards the Dutchman ; his eyes shut, 

and his head resting 8n his hand, had never looked 

, up during this dialogue ; and, when the money was 

spread out on the table, the boor found it necessary to 



draw his attention to it, by shaking him roughly by the 
shoulder. 

** Vill you no look up, eh ? Here is das gelt for 
you ; vill you no look up V* 

Thus roused, Wolfe raised his head, and cast bia 
dim heavy eyes, first on the glittering silver coins, and 
then on his companion, as if he wanted some expla- 
nation of what he eaw. 

" Da is das gelt," said the boor f " dat is de fifty dol- 
lar — I hab xahlt it— all very right ! Vill you take it 
up, eh ?*' he continued, heaping the money together, 
and pushing it across the table. Wolfe, who had still 
sufficient sense left to understand the value of money, 
grappled with it as he best could, and stuffed it into 
his pockets. 

" D — d — honest — up—fellow !" said he, evidently 
quite ignorant of the nature of the transaction ; ** d— d — 
honest — fellow ! Pay — w hen — meet — Ports — mouth 
— heal th— long — li fe !" So say i ng, he q uaffed off the 
remainder of his liquor, and, next minute, toppled over 
in his seat, and fell fast asleep. 

The Dutchman, having thus concluded his bargain, 
called the landlord, and told him he had bought the 
negro. Two HottontcA servonts, who were waiting 
for him without, were then summoned in. Poor Tom 
was bound hand and fbor, like a sheep going to the 
shamb?«?s, and deposited in the bottom of a large wa- 
gon, in which bis new master was conveying home 
some other fiirm stores. The Dutchman and his two 
Hottentots mounted in front of the vehicle ; and, driv- 
ing off, soon left Canvass Town in the rear. 

Meanwhile, Wolfe continued buried in his drunken 
sleep ; from which he did not awake till after day- 
dawn in tKe morning. When consciousness returned, 
he recollected where he was, and his first impulse was 
to call his companion. 

" f say, Tom, you dnmken beast, get up, will ye f 
It's time we were going on boardl" 

Bot poor Tom was not there to answer the summons. 

*' Speak, will you, you black-faced nigger!" conti- 
nued Wolfe ; ** why the devil won't you speak f I 
never knew such a'stone to sleep in my life ! Tom ! 
you lubber ; rouse up, I say T' 

Receiving no answer to this animated address, he 
at last jumped up, with the intention of awakening 
his comrade by a hearty shake ; and, when the poor 
fellow was nowhere to be found, he did not know 
what to think. His first feeling was one of anger at 
Tom, for having " cut, and left him in such a scurvy 
manner ;" but a little reflection convinced him that 
the negro was the last roan in the world to leave a 
friend under such circumstances. He therefore called 
the landlord, for the purpose of interrogating him as 
to the cause of his companion's absence. 

•* Where's Black Tom t" said he. 

" Were is he 7" replied Adrian Van Strnyk. " Gone 
away vid ho new master, Mynheer." 

" Gone away with his new master !" repeated Wolfe, 
" why, what the devil do you mean, sirrah f" 

"Wahrheit, Mynheer!" replied the host. «You 
hab him verkauft — sold him !" 

"Sold him!" 

Digitized by VjOOQiC 



156 



THE GENTLEMAN S MAGAZINE. 



** Ta ! to de bauer dat tbb here las' night." 

" Boor !" 

" Ya I he gab you fi(\y thaler for him !*' 

" Boor! fiAy doHara!" cried Wolfe, with a look of 
bewilderment. "Harkye, sinah ! lake care what 
Xou're afler ! Do you think to poas ofl* your jokee on 
me?" 

" No joke at all, Mynheer," replied Adrian ; " you 
hab daa gelt in your tasch !" 

Wolfe inetinciively stufltHl his hands into his pock- 
elSy and ibund the money as ihe host bad indicated 
At first, he did not know what to make of this, for he 
well knew that four dollars was all the money he had 
when he entered the tent ; but, after a little reflection, 
he began to have &ome faint remembrance- of a stran- 
ger, who, on the previous evening, had lent him a 
JDumber of dollars, which he had promised (o repay. 
Mine host, however, put him right in ihis particular, 
by explaining the whole Iransaotion ,- and, as his state- 
ment was cenHrmed by the presence of the money, 
and the absence of Turn, the awful truth daubed at 
once across his mind. He did not, hoi^ever, waste 
much lime in vain regrets ; bur, having informed him 
lelf of the direction the wagon ):ad taken, he sallied 
forth in pursuit of his ill-fated comrade. 

Meanwhile, the phlegmatic Dutchman was driving 
bii cargo slowly homewards, pursuing his way along 
the sea-beach. During the night, thioughout which 
ihey continued their journey, Tom lay like a log in 
Una bottom of the wagon, in a state of most complete 
torpor. Towards morning, howover, though his body 
still continued &st asleep, his mind gave symptoms of 
retozning consciousness, and a heavy confused dream 
came over him. He fancied himself still at the games 
of the preceding day, engaged in leaping with the 
young colonist who had vanquished his companion ; 
and he gave several convulsive starts in his sleep as, 
in imagination, he sprung at the bar. In this state he 
continued lor some time ; till, the eflects of the liquor 
gradiially passing off, his bodily senses resumed their 
fway, and his dream was mixed with a half-waking 
cooseioosDeM of reality. Dim, returning recollection 
carried him back to the moment when be was sitting 
drinking with Wolfe ; and, being balfconscious of his 
prasint recambant position, b« fiuiciod that the usual 
result of hia debauches had overtaken him, and thai 
be had fallen asleep on the floor of the tent The 
jolting of the wagon he imagined to be his companion 
endeavoring to rouse him by shaking { and, as the 
roughness of the motion gradually awoke him, he 
torned round on his bftck, gave bis shoulders an impa- 
tient twitch, and called out in a peevish tone : 

" D— n Dick I what de debbil him shake for! him 
want sleep.'' 

** Potx-tausend !" cried the Dutchman, turning round 
at the sound of the negro's voice, and giving him a 
smart lash with his whip ; '< lie still, you dam nigger !' 

The sharpness of the blow efleetually roused poor 
Tom ; who, starting up from his recumbent posture, 
opened his eyes, and gaxed around him with a look of 
perfect bewilderment 

Memory wn now completely at fault The coids 
on his wrists and ancles ; the Dutchman, with his pipe 



in his mouth, and his whip in his hand ; the two grin- 
ning Hottentots; the wagon itself; all was an inextri- 
cable riddle. Astonishment at first rendered him mo- 
tionless ; and it was not till after repeated contempla- 
tion of the objects around him, and afWr frequent rob- 
bings of his eyes, to satisfy himself that all was not a 
dream, that he endeavored to rise to his feet. In this 
attempt, however, he was completely baffled by the 
cords on his legs ; and, after various unsuccessful strug- 
gles, he at last rolled fairly over on his side, into a 
corner of the wagon. 

Another application of the Dutchman's whip, ac- 
companied by an exhortation to lie quiet, now rouoed 
all the fire of Tom*s naturally choleric disposition ; 
and, regaining with some difficulty his sitting posture, 
he began to curse ond swear at a furious rale ; mixing 
his maledictions with sundry interrogatories, as to 
where he was, who dared to bind him, and so forth. 
To all this, the Dutchman phlegmatically replied, that 
he had better be quiet, otlierwise ho would flog him 
into good manners ; and that there was no use making 
a work, as he had fairly bought him as his slave — ^and 
his slave ho was ! 

" And who sell mo slave, you dam Dutch tiaf f' 
roared Tom. hay'-choked with fury. 

A huge volume of tobacco smoke from the Dutch- 
man's pipe was the otily reply. 

** Who sell me, I say 7" again roared Tom. 

Puff, puff, went the pipe ; but not a word in the 
way of answer. 

Tom now went into another tirade of cuirca ; but, 
finding that all his eloquence produced no other eflect 
than that of making the Dutchman apply more assi- 
duously to his tobacco, he, at last, philosophically de- 
termined to give himself up to his fate, and to trust 
to fortune. 

The whole day they continued their route along 
the seacoast ; only stopping once, to bait the team, and 
to refresh themselves with a little beer and cheese. 
A part of this fare was thrown to Tom, but he indig- 
nantly spurned it, and again they continued their joiif- 
ney. 

Towards evening they left the shore, and took a 
direction towards the interior of the country. 

Afler a jolting drive of some hours, they at last ar- 
rived at what appeared to be a small farm-house ; and 
here, their conductor intimated, they were to pam the 
night Tom was removed from the wagon, and thrown 
among some straw in an outphouse ; while the Dutch- 
man and his companions adjourned into the principal 
dwelling. 

Our unlucky negro had scarcely well nestled him- 
self in his straw bed, when one of the Hottentots en- 
tered with a torch, bringing some bread and water for 
his supper. The light of the torch gave him an op- 
portunity of observing that the place where he lay 
was that in which the farm implemenU were k^pt ; 
and, among the rest, he discovered several acythes, 
pruning hooks, and so forth, lying scattered about 

Tom, whose whole thoughts were bent upon escape, 

immediately took advantage of this circumstance, and 

as soon as the Hottentot was gone, he managed to 

crawl near one of the scythes, against the sharo edge 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 



SELLING A NIGQER, 



157 



of which he rubbed the corde on his wrists, till he 
fairly tawed them asunder. Haying now the use of 
his hands, he speedily freed his ankles from Iheir bind- 
ings ; and, wailing till all was quiet in the farm-house, 
he sallied forth, and took the same road, as nearly as 
he could guess it in the darkness, by which the wagon 
had arrived, 

Meeting with no obstruction, he plodded on as fast 
ai his active limbs would carry him ; and, aflcr en- 
countering a variety of difllculties, in the shape of 
jungles, morasses, and rivers, and having nothing to 
eat but the wild fruits that grew in his path, he ar- 
rived, towards the evening of tho next day, at the sea- 
coast. Cheered by the prospect of his favorite ele- 
ment, and having the beach to act as a guide to his 
farther course, he persevered in his journey, notwiih- 
standiog hunger and fatigue ; and, on the following 
day, his eyes were blessed by the sight of the white 
teols of Canvass Town. 

Haggard and emaeiated, with his clothes nearly 
lorn off bis back, the poor fellow presented himself at 
the Blue Boar, just as the usual party were sitting 
down to dinner. Ai soon as his arrival was announced, 
eaptain Morley summoned him to give an account ol 
himself; when he narrated, in hie own graphic way, 
most of the eiicmnslances I have endeavored to de- 
scribe above. 

" And who you link sell me slave ?" cried he, with 
great indignatioD, when he had concluded his story; 
at which we were all nearly convvlsed with laughter. 
'^ God knows!" replied captain Morley, endeavor- 
ing, in vain, to look grave. 

''God know!" cried Tom; <«bery Irae, sur; but 
Tom sabe too ! Dat dam tief of de^ world, BoUe ! So 
help me God, sur, him sell me for tree hunder riz dal- 
ler!" 

" Well, Tom;* said the captain, " it will be a leason 
to yoa in future, never to get drunk! Where t> 
Wolfe r 

" Were nm is, inr ? How me know w*ere um is f 
Bat if ebber me meet him again— 'tand clear, massa 
BoIfe;dAtall!" 

As for Wolfe, we fairly gave him up for lost ; all 
oar inqmiies coneeming him were fruitless. 

it was not till nearly three weeks aAer the occur- 
renee of these incidents, that information was brought 
one evening, to the Blue Boar, that a stranger, sap* 
poied to be a sailor in disguise, had arrived in Canvass 
Town, and it, was shrewdly suspected that he was no 
other than our veritable boatswain's-mate. I was the 
next mtdshipBian for duty ; and two marines, who 
were of the shore party, being summoned, we pro- 
ceeded with captain Morley to the tent where the 
man was said to be. The marines remained outside, 
while the captain and myself entered. 

The tent in which we found ourselves was a miser- 
able hovel, with no other flooring than the bare ground, 
and no furniture, save a few barrels and boxes, which 
served the porposea of tables and chairs. On one of 
these stood an empty bottle, with the remnant of a 
lighted candle atack into its half-broken neck. 



The only occupants of the place were three women 
and one man. In the appearance of the latter, there 
was nothing very remarkable. He was, apparently, a 
farmer of the middle class ; a tall, robust fellow, in a 
broad-brimmed hat, bottle-green coat, cord breechef. 
ribbed worsted stocl^ngs, and laced half boots. His 
dress ^ was arranged with holiday neatness, and hia 
well shaven beard "showed like a stubble-field at 
harvest home." 

Csplain Morley contemplated the group for an in- 
stant, and then apologized for having intruded upon 
them. 

" I was given to understand," said he, " that thera 
was a man belonging to my ship here ; but I find I 
have been misinformed, and I am sorry for having dif- 
turbed you." 

With this apology, the captau) was just in the act 
of turning round to leave the tent when his eye acci- 
dentally encountered that of the young farmer. No 
sooner did the two glances meet, than there was an 
instant recognition on the part of captain Morley. 

" Marines !" he cried in a loud voice to tha men 
without — and the two marines immediately appeared 
at his summona— " Seize that fellow ! and take oartt 
that he does not escape !" 

The marines laid hold of the man by the collar, one 
on each side, and captain Morley left the tent, da* 
siring them to follow. 

" Avast heaving, shipmates !" said Wolfe— for thd 
man was no othei^— " let me light my pipe, will ye t 
If you weie as hungry and as tired aa I am, yoa 
wouldn't be in such a d— d hurry to go on board to 
get flogged." 

The two men relaxed their hold for an instant at 
this appeal ; and Wolfe, with' his pipe in hie months 
bent his head to the miserable oandle end, whidx 
stood on one of the boxes that strewed the tent 

" Make haste, men," cried Morley, impatiently, from 
wilhottt 

" Coming, sir!" replied Wolfe, starting np ficm hit 
stooping posture, with the lighted pipe in hii month ; 
and the next instant, the two marines were laid sprawl* 
ing on the floor, by an expert " right and lefter." 

One spring brought the prisoner to the entrance of 
the tent ; the captain stood in the doorway, and ob- 
structed his passage. A single blow from the power- 
ful hand of Wolfe, would have felled him in an in- 
stant to the ground ; and thus the only obstacle to hia 
retreat would have been removed. But scarcely had 
the natural promptings, of instinct raised his arm to 
strike the stroke of self-preservation, when it fell again» 
liko a dead weight, at his side. 

" No !'* ho cried, with something between a groan 
and a sigh, while he stood completely subdued in the 
presence of his commander. "No! not you!— any 
one but you ! D — n me, if I can strike Tou !" 

Without farther resistance, he sufibred himself to 
be secured, and conveyed on board. I need scarcely 
add that, under such extenuating circumstanees, cap- 
tain Morley remitted the punishment of flogging. A 
night passed in irons was the man's only pmushmanC 



e9 



Digitized by VjOOQiC 



158 



THE GEITTLEMAN's MAGAZINE. 



SC ISSIBLES, 



FROM TBS BLANK BOOK OF A BIBLIOGRAPHER. 



And as for me, though that I ken bat lite 

On books for to read, I me delight 

And to them give I faith and full credence, 

And in mine heart have *em in reverence 

So heartily that there is game none 

That fro' my books makest me to gone.— CA<i«c«r. 



EARLY MANUSCRIPTS AND EDITIONS OF 
THE BIBLE. 

Thi most BDcient and mott valuable book in tbe 
Bible, and of all others the most deaerviog oar atten- 
tion, even were it only as a flpecimen of the earliest 
liteiatnre ; but the holy volame has a stronger claim 
upon US. As the spring from whence flow all the 
UesBed gills of our divine Father— as the sacred re- 
ference for our guide through paths checquered with 
p«rplexitiea and ilia— as the source of inexhaustible 
consolation and relief, when encompassed by sorrow's 
powerful arm— as the beacon through which we learn 
how to live on earth^and lastly, as the ladder to 
climb to heaven^-we must hold its name ever dear 
to us, and treasure every fact connected with its ez- 
iftence. 

The Old Testament was flitt written in Hebrew, 
and afterwards trandated into Greek, about 375 years 
before the birth of Christ, by seventy-two Jews, by 
order of Ptolemeus Fhiladelphus, king of Egypt The 
precise number of the Hebrew manuscripts of the Old 
Testament is unknown ; those written before the years 
700 or 800 it is supposed were destroyed by some 
decree of the Jewish senate, on account of their nu- 
merous diflerences from the copies then declared 
genuine. Those which exist in the present day were 
all written between the ywn 1000 and 1457. The 
manner in. which these MSS. were written is rather 
interesting. 

In the first place, then, the inspired languoge has 
been written upon various substances — ^leaves, skins, 
▼ellum, paper, Sec., and it is even probable that seve- 
ral of the prophets wrote upon tablets of wood. (See 
Isaiah xzz. 8.) Zacharias, the father of John the Bap- 
list, when required to name bis son, asked for a writ- 
ing-table, and wrote "His name is John." (Lukfe' 1. 63.) 
In the reign of the emperor Zeno. (485j the remaios 
of St. Barnabas were found near Salamis, with a Copy 
cf the Gospel of SL Matthew, in Hebrew^ laid upon his 
breast, written with his own hand, upon leaves of 
thyme wood ; a kind of wood particularly odoriferous 
and valuable. In the library of St. Mary, at Florence, 
is the vAoie New Tettament on silk, with the Inlurgy, 
and short Marty rology; at the end of it there is written 
in Greek, " By the hand of the sinner and most un- 
worthy marh; in the year of the World, 6840, (that is, 



of Christ, 1332,) Monday, Dec. the d2d."* Some of 
the Greek MSS. were written all in capital letters; 
the small letters not being generally adopted until the 
close of the 10th century. Numerous curious abbre- 
viations also existed in them; the first and last letters, 
and sometimes with the middle letter of a word only 
appearing, and the words not being separated. The 
following literal rendering of Matth. v. 1,3, according 
to the Codex Besae, or Cambridge MSS. of the Foar 
Gospels and Acts, will convey to the reader some idea 
of the manner in which manuscripts were ancientljr 
written and printed :— 

AlfDaKElNOTBBMULTITUDKBBXWENTUPINTOAHOtJKTAiK 

ANDWHINHXWASSITDOWN-OAMBTOHIU 

HISDXSCIPLXS-AlfDOFENINOHlSMOUTH 

HETAUGHTTHUISATINa 

BLlSSIDARETHKPOORINSFltFORTBEIKnS 

THKKIlfQDOMOFHEAVElt. 

English historians mention some part of the Bible 
to have been translated into the mother-tongue in the 
boginning of the 8th centvyt 

Amongst the Lansdown MSS. preserved in the 
British Museum, there is a volume stated to be 100 
years older than Wicklifie's time, (WickllfiRs flouriihed 
about 1360.) This book has been considered, by no 
incompetent judge, even of a still earlier date, and as 
the first and earliest English translation known. The 
following extract (the first chapter of Geuesia) from 
this edition, is a highly curlou3 and interesting speci- 
men of early tranilotions ;•— 

" In ye beginning God made of nought hevene and 
erthe. For sothe the erthe was idil and voide ; and 
derknessis werun on the face of depthe, and the spyrit 
of the Lord wos bom on the waters. 

" And God seide, lizt be maid, ond lizt wos made, 
and God siz the lizt it wos good, ond he departide the 
lizt fro dcrkneeses, ond he depide ye lizt dai, ond the 
derknessis nizt, ond tho cventyd and mornetyd wos 
made on dai. 

"And (God) seide, make we roan to our ymage ond 
likenesse, ond bo he souereyn to the fishes of the see, 

* Townley's Illustrations of Biblical Literature. 

t SPT, is contracted for BPinT. 

t Aldemus trantlated the P^Ims into Sax^, in 709. 



SCISSIBLEB 



159 



ond to the volatilis of hevene, and to unreasonable 
beeites of earthe, ond to eche creatufe, ond to erthe 
creepinge beeit which ia movid in erthe, and God 
moid of nought a man to his jrmage ond likenen. 
God moide of nought him, male and female." 

Several translations having appeared, we now eome 
to the year 1526, when the New Testament, translated 
bj Tindal, &c. was published by GraAon, which oc- 
casioned the then Bishop of London to issue a procla- 
mation, demanding under ** poine of excommunication, 
and incurring the suspicion of heresie, oil ond singular 
such bookes oonteyning the translation of the New 
Testament in the Engliche tongue." This translation, 
containing, according to the decree, " erroneous opi 
niona, pernicious and oflensive, seducying the simple 
people, attemptytng by their wicket and perverse in- 
terpretations, to prophanate the majestye of the scrip- 
ture, ond craftify to abuse the most holy word of God." 
This prohibition was little regarded, consequently the 
bishopa and clergy made great complaints, and peti- 
tioned the king. They were, however, very soon 
bought up by Bishop Tunstal and Sir Thomas More, 
and burnt at St. Paul's Cross. 

The ignorant and illiterate monks were so much 
alarmed when the Testament appeared in our mother- 
tongue, that they declared from their pulpits, " that 
there was a new language discovered, of which the 
people should beware, since it was that which pro- 
duced all the heresies ; that in this language was a 
book come forth called the New Testament, which 
was now in every body's hands, and was full of thorns 
and briers." 

The Vicar of Croydon, in Surrey, together with 
numerous other monks and priests, were also much 
terrified when the Scriptures first appeared in a 
printed volume, and the former thus expressed himself 
in a sermon preached at St Paul's Cross >-" We must 
root out printing, or printing will root out us." As 
long as ignorance and hypocrisy could stand against 
the infant strides of knowledge and truth, this doctrine 
was enforced ; but ultimately, as ever must be the 
case, bigotry and superstition were soon, in this parti- 
cular instance, torn from their haughty and oppressive 
throne, and the vicar's prophecy was fully verified. 

1532. The first edition of the whole Bible in the 
English language (the translation by Miles Coverdale) 
was published by Grafton. It was printed at Paris 
or Marsburgh, in Hessia. Six copies were presented 
to Archbishop Cranmer, and Lord Cromwell. It was 
a folio, dedicated to the king, in the following man- 
ner: 

" Unto the moost gracyous soveraygne lonl kynge 
Henry the eyghth, kynge of Englande and of France, 
lord of Irelandc, &c., Defender of the Fayth, and under 
God, Iho chefo stipprcme heade of the churche or 
Englande. 

" The ryght and just administracyon of the lawcs 
that God~gave unto Moses and unto Josua ; the tesii- 
monye of faythfulncss that God gave to David : the 
plenteous abundance of wysdome that God gave unto 
Solomon t the lucky and prosperous age with the mul- 



tiplicacyon of sede which God gave unto Abraham 
and Sara his wife, be given unto you moat gracyoiu 
prynce, with your dearest just wyfe and most vertuous 
pryncesse queue Jane." 
This dedication is thus subscribed :— 

" Your grace's humble subjecte 
" and daylye oratour, 

"Myles Coverdalk." 

ft appears by what Coverdale says here, and else- 
where, that the Holy Scripture was now allowed to 
be read, and had, in English ; but not so always, for 
in some part of his reign, Tindal's Bible was sup- 
pressed, by act of parliament ; indeed, the Bible was 
absolutely forbidden to be read or expounded in our 
churches; but the Lord Chancellor, the Speaker of the 
House of Commons, Captains of the Wars, Justices of 
the Peace, and Recorders of the Cities, might quote 
passages, to enforce their public harangues. A noble- 
man or gentleman might read it in his house or gar- 
dens, quietly and without disturbing good order ; but 
women, artificers, apprentices, journeymen, husband- 
men, and laborers, were to be punished wiih one 
months' in^risonmenU as often as they were detected in 
reading the BiUe, either privafeZy or openly. ** Nothing 
shall be taught or maintained contrary to the king'i 
instructions;" 33 Hen. VIII. c. 39. Such, however, 
was the privilege of a peerage, that ladies of quality 
might read " to themselves alone" and not to othera, 
" any chapter in the Old or New Testament." - 

1536. About this time Bibles were ordered to be 
set up In some convenient place within their churchee, 
so that the parishioners might resort to the same, and 
read it, and the charge of this book to be *' ratably borne 
between them and the parishioners of one side ; that 
is to say, one half by the pars«i, and the other half by 
them." 

1539. In this year a large folio Bible was printed, 
called Cranmer*8 Bible, with the following title :— 

" The Byble in Englyshe. That is to saye, the 
content of all the Holy Scripture, bothe the Olde and 
New Testament, truly translated after the veryte of 
the Uebrue and Greke textes, by the dylygent studye 
of dyuerse excellent learned men expert in the for- 
saydc tongues." 

By a proclamation this year, it was ordained that 
every parish should buy a copy, under the penalty of 
40«. The price of it bound with clasps was 12s. The 
Popish Bishops, two years afterwards, obtained the 
suppression of this book, and thenceforth po Bible 
was printed or sold during the remainder of the reign 
of ilcnry. 

Edward VI. coming to the crown, 1547, Bibles were 
again permitted to be circulated. 

Queen Mary osccnding the throne, the Bible was 
ngfiin sujiprcsficd ; but was happily restored by Queen 
Elizabeth, and on edition of the largest volume pub- 
lished before 1562. 

15G3. March the 27ih, A bill wos brought into the 

House of Commons that the 'Bible and the divine 

service might be translated into the Welsh tongue, 

and used in the churches of Wales, ^-^^^^i^ 
Digitized byVjOOviC 



160 



THE GENTLBMAN^'S MAGAZINE. 



1566. The edition published ia 1562, having been 
sold, a new one now appeared. 

1568. A new translation, promoted by Archbishop 
Parker, came out, called the " Great English Bible," 
and sometimes " the Bishops* Bible." 

1572. The above edition was again reprinted, and 
called " the Holy Bible," and had the distinction of 
l>eing divided into verses, which was the work of 
diflerent bishops. 

1584. The Papists now discovering that it was im- 
possible to prevent the circulation of the Scriptures in 
the vulgar tongue, printed a copy at Rheims, and 
♦called it " the Rhemish Testament" 

1603 to 1610. The last and best English translation 
of the Bib^e was that occasioned by the conference at 
Hampton Court, in 1603. At this meeting many ob- 
jections were made to the " Bishops' Bible," when, 
after due deliberation, it was recommended to have 
a new translation. King James accordingly issued 
an order to prepare one. " Piot for a translation alto- 
gether new» nor yet to make of a bad one a good one; 
but to make a good one better, or of many good ones, 
one best." In 1604, fifty-four learned persons were 
appointed to this most important task ; but they did 
not commence until 1607, when the number were 
reduced, by deaths, to forty-seven. Notwithstanding 
this diminution in their number, they completed 
their work in three years, and dedicated it to King 
James. 

After this edition was published, the other tranifla- 
tions dropped by degrees, and this became generally 
adopted. True, it was published by authority, but 
there was neither canon, proclamation, nor act of par- 
liament to enforce the use of id. Selden, in speaking 
of this translation, says, "the translators in King 
James's time took an excellent way. That part of 
the Bible being given to him who was most excellent 
in such a tongue, and then they met together, and 
one read the translation, the rest holding in their 
hands some Bible, either of the learned tongaes, or 
French, Spanish, Italian, &c. If any found fault they 
■poke; if not, they read on." 



ANTIQUATED EXPOSITION. 

Extract from an Antinnn^c^. Erpoaition on the Fourteen 
first Chapters of Genesis^ by way of Questions and 
Anstoers, by Abraham Ross, of Aberdeen, bearing 
date 1626, and dedicated to Lord Vendam, Lord 
lEgh Chancellor qf England. 



ON CREATION. 

Quest. Was the world created, or eternal! 

Ana. Created. 1. There can bee but one eternal 
3. Almost all the Philosophers are against the etemitie 
of the world. 3. They that hold it eternal, can bring 
no sound reason. 4. The most ancient monuments of 
records amongst the heathen, are Dot so old as the 
Flood of Noah. 



Quest. Coiifd God make more worlds than one 1— 
Ans. Yes : for he is Almighty, and hee made it not 
of any matter .- for that should have bin exhausted : 
but more he would not, because hee being one, delights 
in unitie. 

Quest. Why in Hebrew saith Moses, Gods created, 
joining the noune plurall, with the verbe singQlar ? 
Ans. To signify the mystery of the Trinitie, one es- 
sence in three persons. It is the property of the He- 
brew phrase. 

Quest. Why in the beginning of this booke, speak- 
eth Moses only of heaven and earth? Ans, Because by 
the name of heaven, he comprehends all celestial bodies, 
aiSd by the name of earth the elements : for water is 
in the earth, and fire and aire, as witnesse the springs 
and exhalations, in earthqiiakes, and burning moun- 
tains, or bote waters. 

QuesL Did God create the earth moveable or not? 
Ans» Immoveable. Job 38. Psal. 39, .and 104; this is 
understood, in respect of the whole earth : yet it moved 
in respect of parts, by earthquakes, Job 9. 

Quest. Of what figure is the earth ! Ans. Round, 
this £gure is moat perfect, capable, ancient. 

Quest- Is tke earth vnder the water or not t Ans. 
Vader, because heaviest : yet Exod. 20. PMd. 34» and 
136, it seems the water is vnder the earth ; but it is 
to be vnderstood, that a great part of the earth was 
made higher than the waters, for man's habitation. 

Quest. Why cannot the whole earth move ? Aim. 
Because hee is in his naturall state, which if it ahoold 
move, it should ascend : and this is against the natWM 
of the earth. 

ON THE SEKFENT. 

Quest. What is meant by the Serpent? Ans. Not 
the diuell : for so these words should be metaphorically 
vnderstood; but this is a misterie, and no allegory: 
nor the image of a Serpent, for it was not a pictuiet 
but a real Serpent that was cursed, neither waa it a 
naturall Serpent that did speake i for speeeh and rea- 
soning alone naturally belong to men, not to beasts : 
for they neither have reasonable soules, nor the instru- 
ments of speech : but it was the deuill that spake ia 
the Serpent, vsing the same as his instrument to de- 
ceive. So then, there was, both a Serpent, which ia 
proved both by the speeeh of Moses, and the punish- 
ment inflicted on the Serpent; and besides, the diuell, 
which is knowne both by his speech and reasoning 
with £ua, as also by the testimonie of Christ, calling 
the deuil a man-slayer from the beiginning, John 8. 

Quest. Why was the diuell so earnest to tempt Euel 
Ans. Because he hated God, and would not have man 
to glorifie, but to anger him ; because of his pride and 
enuy; for he could not abide that man should be in 
such happiness, himself being in misery. QuesL Why 
did Adam eat this fruit? Ans. Partly through the 
instigation of his wife; partly through curiosity, desir- 
ing to try what kind of fruit this should be, which 
God did prohibit, QuesL Was the sin of Adam and 
Eua the greatest sinne that ever was committed ? Ans, 
If we do consider one sinne with another, then wee 
say, that Adam's sinne was not the greatest, for the 
sin against the Holy Gheat is grafter ; but if wa re- 
Digitized by VjOOQIC 



BCI8SIBI.E8, 



161 



spect the circuniBtaiicei of Adam'i ainne, to -91 it, the 
place. Paradise, where no occasion of sinne was; the 
time 'when he sinned, immediately after his creation, 
at the first encounter yeelding to his enemy, the ex- 
cellence of the person that sinned, Adam being created 
iaXaod's owne Image : if we regard also that infinite 
hart and misery that hath fain vpon manKinde, by 
that sin of Adam; we must confess, that it is the 
greatest sin that euer man committed. 

EXPULSION FKOM PARADISE. 

Quest. Why did God say that Adam was like to 
himt Ans, By these words, God would show how 
worthle Adam was to be scorned, who thought to be 
like any of the three Persons in the Trinitio, for eating 
of the forbidden fruit : so this word (vs) doth not sig- 
nify angels, but the three Persons of the Trinitie. 
QuesL Why did God driue Adam out of the Garden ? 
Am*» To let him see how foolishly he had done, in 
gining more credit to his wife than to him ; to keepe 
the tree of Life from him, lest he should abuse it, by 
thinking to haue life by it, seeing he had now violated 
God's Law ; for altho this tree was a sign of lift before 
his Fall, now it is none, that by driving him from this 
Tree of Ijfe, he might seek for a better life than this 
Tree conld yeeld, euen that heauenly life which is 
hid with Christ in God. Quest When was Adam 
east out of ParadisjB ? Ans, The same day he sinned : 
for he being now a sinner, and rebellious against God, 
was not fit to stay any longer in that holy place: bat 
what day of the weeke he was cast out, is onoertaine : 
yet it is thought the eighth day after his creation, he 
was cast oat, in the enening of that day; for Satan did 
not sofler him to stay long therein vntempted ! yet I 
do not hold that he was cast out that same day that 
he waa created : for so many things as fell out be- 
tweene his creatkm and casting out of Paradise could 
not he done all in such a short space as a piece of a 
day; for the beasts were created the sixth day, before 



man was : in such a short time Adam could not have 
perceived (he pleasures and happiness of that place; 
therefore he was not cast out that same day hee was 
created. 

Quest. Why would God have Adam to till the 
ground ? Ans. Because now the ground was cursed, 
and would not yeeld fraite without hard labour : by 
this seruill worke hee would put him in remembrance 
of his sinne, which brought him to this misery: yet 
aflerwards God mitigated his hard labour, in freeing 
euery senenth yeare from his tillage, to put them in 
mind of that ease they lost by sin, which was restored 
again spiritually by Christ. 

THE CUEKUB1M8 AND FLAMING SWOIID. 

Quest. What is meant here by the Cherubims and the 
fiery Sword } Ans. Ifot fearful visions, nor the torrid 
zone, nor a fire encompassing Paradise like a wall, 
neither the flreof Purgatory, as Theodorotus,Aquincio, 
Lyranus, and Ambronus doe imagine, but by the Che- 
rubims we vnderstand the Angels, which did appeare 
often times with wings, as Daniel i. 9, and the figures 
of these were wrought in the tabernacle, Exod. 35. 
By the fiery sword we vnderstand moat sharpe and 
two-edged swords which the Angels in the forme of 
men did shake, by the which shaking and swift motion 
the swords did seem to Adam to glistor like firee, for 
more terror, lest he should attempt re-entrance there { 
the Angels also have appeared at other times with 
swords in their hands, as we read, Numbers 23, of the 
Angel that met Balaam ; and of that Angel that Daniel 
did observe with a sword 'm his hand, 1 Chion. SL 16. 

QuetU Why are these angels called Cherubims t 
Ans. Because they did appear with wings in the Ta- 
bernacle and the' Temple, they were vrroaght with 
two vnngs; they appeared to Esay, seraphiiBs, hecaose 
they are inflamed with the love of God ! they appeare 
with wings, to signifie their swifbtesse and diligence 
in executing God's commandments. 



OH, WEEP NOT NOW 



BY ANDREW M'MAKIN, PHILA. 



Ob, weep not now, but say farewell, 

With calm, unfaltering tongue ; 
I would not wish one pang should swell 

Our eorrowB to prolong. 

A smile should gild my devious way, 

Like sunlight on the sea, 
Then v^eep not now— *thou should'st be gay- 

Nor shed one tear for me. 

(Ml, weep not now, it is not meet 
Oar loTe shoaM sorrow bring ; 

Oar ftelinp oft the sens 
To looee the hidden spring. 



The darkest hour is said to be 

The last before *tis day; 
Then weep not now one tear for 

Thou should'sti indeed, be gay. 

Oh, weep not now — tears shed in vain, 

Though hallow'd each that fell, - 
And grateful as the summer ram. 
The flourets thirst to queU. 

The gloW'Worm sparkles brighter for, 

On midnight's darkest brow; 
Then weep not then, my earthly sfaTi 

To dim thy lostre now. , t 

Digitized by VjOOQiC 



162 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



THE FIEND LOVER. 

A TALE OF OBERWESSEL. 



«< Books!" exdalmed the hoit, opening his eyes 
with amazement aa he spoke — " Sapperment ! if you 
need good treatment for yourself, and good stahling 
for your beast, you need not go farther than the sign 
of the Golden Eagle ; but, as for books! you must go 
to Gottingen if you want books." 

" And pray," I replied, ** what am 1 to do with 
myself, in this inn of yours, till bed- time; for, as to 
stirring out while this confounded rain is pouring 
down, it is out of the question." 

"Der Teufel!" ejaculated ray landlord, with all 
that bluntness of manner which still characterizes 
some of the German hosts. " You have got a bottle 
of ray choicest hock, better was never tasted in all 
Germany— a ham from one of our primest boars, and 
a warm hearth to sit by^there is no great hardship^ 
I should think, in passing away a few hours in my 
best room, when you have all these by your side." 

Here was a situation for a man of restless tempera- 
ment ! A dull, dirty room, in an old tumble-down 
hostel, without even the usual redeeming point of a 
plump and pretty landlady, within doors ; while with- 
out, descended a tremendous rain, deluging the streets 
of OberweHel, and making every kennel like the 
channel of some mountain stream. I had already been 
detained two d&ys within the tows, by the stormy 
state of the weather, and felt my situation grow more 
irksome every instant ; but the idea of passing a third 
within the walb of the Golden Eagle, without the 
chance of extracting an answer from any one, save my 
heavy-eyed, peevish host, made me heartily consign 
town, rain, inn, host, and last not least, my rambling 
propensities, most irrecoverably to the devil! The 
third day dawned — dawned, did I say f Ne, I mistake ; 
the old German clock certainly proclaimed the hour 
of day-break, but day-light I saw none, unless the 
thick yellow mist, seemingly possessed of tangible 
properties, which I beheld from my window, might 
be called by that name. At all events, I was awero 
that I had another period of twenty-four hours of in- 
supportable dullness to endure. But let time wave 
his wings ever so slowly, still they are moved ; in a 
word, noon passed, and evening approached. I grew 
desperate, and asked for the loan of some mental food, 
t) accompany the viands spread for my supper on the 
table. The reader has seen the repulse I met with; 
siill I wns not Jo bo defeated. " But proy, what are 
those volumes?" 1 replied, pointing to a range of 
Hhelves above me, on which reposed two dusty books, 
amidst an incongruous- collection of culinary utensils. 

" Mynheer is welcome to look," said the landlord, 
at the same time reaching the books down from their 
resting place. I shrugged ray shoulders as I glanced 
at them— the tiilc of one was, '• Marshal Saxe on the 



Art of War;" the other, a Uttle squat, Dutch-built 
volume, a dictionary of the German language : unfor- 
tunately not even my ennui could give me a relish 
for the stout warrior's tactics, or give rae a desire to 
conn over the Lexicon, so that I was on^the point of 
resigning myself to my late, when, en casting my eyee 
again to the shelves, my attention was arrested by, 
what appeared to me some papers bound round with 
a leathern thong. 

I requested to see them. My host took them down, 
but shook his head, as he laid them on the table, re- 
marking, that they did not belong to him, but to his 
confessor, who, being obliged to leave Oberweasel for 
some time, had consigned them to. his care, with a 
strict injunction not to pry into the contents, aa they 
contained some unholy tale not Bt to meet the eye of a 
good Catholic ; here the landlord crossed himself de- 
voutly. My curiosity was now excited, and like a 
true son of Eve, 1 secretly determined to have a peep 
at the forbidden scroll ; opportunity soon favored my 
intention, ipr the host shortly after quitted the room, 
though not before he had carefully replaced the roll 
upon the shelves. He was no sooner gone, than I 
locked the door, to prevent sudden intrusion, and 
again abstracted it from its hiding-place; the strap 
which confined it was soon undone, but the task of 
decyphering the writing on the parchment was one 
of no little difficulty, time and damp having, in some 
places, wholly obliterated it. Besides this, I had to 
contend with the siogular and obsolete wording which 
pervaded the whole, rendering it at times, almost un- 
intelligible ; however, the spice of the antiquary within 
me, prompted me to pursue my labors, in the hope 
of finding something which might throw a light on 
the customs and manners of the olden times, to which^ 
judging by its mouldering condition, and the before* 
mentioned singularity of idiom, it evidently belonged. 
For the story, I could make little of it, save that it 
appeared to be a record of crime interspersed with the 
ravings of a frenzied maniac. On the first page was 
inscribed, in rather larger letters than the rest of the 
writing :— " To Ilirgald, now Abbess of the Black 
Nuns i" on the second, the manuscript commenced as 
follows:— 

"I am dying! the cold death-drop is on my 

brow, and every rush of the burning blood through 
ray veins, hurls me onward to the grave. Fes, Hir- 
gald ! long, long, ere ih'nt scroll of crime meets thine- 
eye, I shall be no more. The hand which traces 
these lines is now ringed by the cold red worm — the 
slime of the foul eil is on my cheek, and the very air 
that I gasp for, is the poisonous vapor of my dungeon; 
yet I reck not this, it is a sister's blood that weighs 
00 my brain, like iriolten lead, burning, maddening 
Digitized by VjOOQLC 



THE FIBND LOVER. 



163 



* * * * Hirgald ! dost thou remember the young, 
the iniuKtent being you once loved, when hope was 
in her heart, and joy in her eyef Then Bertha, of 
Odenstein was happy, but when thou, friend of my 
youth, departed from my father's halls, a sudden — ^a 
fearful change came over me. Soon aAer, as thou 
knowest, the grave closed on my angel mother. Oh, 
Hirgald ! how that mother loved me, how— but I must 
not wander. She died, and I was left alone, mother- 
less, friendless. I felt, X knew, that my &ther loved 
me not — Marguerite, my sister Marguerite, was his 
darling, while I, his youngest bom— his motherless 
youngest bom, neglected and despised, became the 
scorn of the vassals of my house, and the very serfs 
bent not the knee, nor vailed the cap as I passed. I 
would have reposed my sorrows on the breast of my 
sister; but she, too, repulsed the overflowings of my 
heart; I would have loved her, Hirgald, but she 
shrank from my affection, all— all seemed to hate and 
ibmke me. Oh, Hirgald, did 1 deserve this? — Was 
I misshapen in my form ! that my father should have 
held me as if I were some vile, foul thuig, unworthy 
of the name of woman f Did I ever fail in my duty 
to him, that he should have lavished all his love on 
my sister, while he banished me wholly .from his 
heart? But it was so; then came the withering feel- 
ing on my soul, as if the fiend despair had cast the 
shadow of his foul pinions on my heart, blighting and 
desolating aU the good thou hadst striven to impress 
upon me ; I shunned both cloister and banquet, and 
the gloom of the wild forest, when the night-blast was 
howling through its glades, was more pleasing to me 
than the festal dance, or the lighted hall ; it was at 
this time that my father held a high festival at Oden- 
stein, in honor of my sister's birth-day ; she had at- 
tained her twenty-first year ; the fame of Marguerite's 
beauty had spread far and near, and prince and baron, 
knight and esquire, flocked from all parts to behold 
the heiress of the broed lands-of Odenstein. It was 
on the third day of the festival, I was alone in my 
chamber, ^hich overlooked the gay tourney h'eld in 
the court>^ard below ; but I heeded not the glittering 
scene before me ; the clangor of the trumpets, and the 
ihouts of the heralds, fell alike unnoticed on ray ear. 
The burning tear of wounded pride was on my cheek, 
and my hot brow was thxobblng with the fierce emo 
tions of my heart. 

" Marguerite, the haughty Marguerite, the queen 
of the gorgeous revel, knew not the being she treated 
with contempt ; whom, (even now my hand trembles 
^ilh rage as I wiile,) she had^had forbidden, ay, 
forbidden ! to appear within the lists. Sho knew me 
QOttlsay; she knew not that beneath the outward 
«how of timidity and reserve, I concealed a spirit even 
prouder than her own : that passions slept within my 
breast, which, once roused, were fierce ond ungovern- 
able, as the mighty Rhine, when its swollen waters 
<ue riubing past the walls of Odenstein. Hirgald, she 
^ould not let me love her, and, at length, I felt that 
1 hated hei^— ay, that day I knew I hated her with a 
horrible, a deadly hate • ♦ ♦ ♦ The tourney 
had been long over, the neighing of the coursers, and 
the ^ar-crics of the knights, were heard no more ; yet 



I was still within my chamber. The evening breexe 
waved the tendrils of the ivy that clung around the 
casement, at which I sat ; but it cooled not the fevei 
of discontent which burnt beneath my bosom. Sud- 
denly the sound of my name, uttered in a low whie* 
per, fell softly on my ear, and shortly afler, a voice, 
replete with melody, breathed forth a romaunt of the 
troubadours of France. The sul^ject of the lay wae 
the praise of beauty, and as I listened, I heaid my 
name again mentioned in the course of the song. 
Trembling with curiosity and agitation, I bent forward 
from the lattice to discover the unseen minstrel, and* 
almost shrouded from my view by the shadow of the 
turret, against which he leaned, I beheld the figoie 
of an armed man, standing on the range of ramparts 
beneath. The voice ceased, and the figure, stepping 
forward from the shade of the tower, presented itself 
directly before me. The armor of the unknown glitp 
tered brightly in the beams of the rising moon, and I 
could perceive that he carried, slung around his neck». 
a small lute, and bore in his right hand a tilting spear. 
'This, and the golden spurs, gleaming on the heels of 
his steel shoes, evinced the stranger to be one of the 
knights who had been engaged in the tournament I 
was rising to leave the casement, but the unknown 
made an earnest gesture of entreaty for roe to stay; at 
the same time afiiiing something to the point of hia 
lance, which he raised to a level with the lattice. 
The moon's ray now shone full upon the countenance 
of the stranger ; it was a face, Hirgald, that, once 
seen, could never be banished from the memory of the 
beholder. It was beautiful! Oh, how beautiful f 
And yet, as I gazed, a strange, an indefinable sensation 
seemed to thrill through my veins. I was fiiscinated* 
yet I shuddered as T looked. The knight still kept 
his lance resting against the base of the casement, and 
I now perceived that a small billet was attached to 
the point of the' spear, which, firom the signs he made,. 
I saw he wished me to remove. I hesitated an instant,, 
then stooped and lifled the letter from the weapon. I 
had no sooner done this, than the warrior lowered hia 
spear, and, bowing till the snowy plumes of his hel- 
met mingled with the white scarf, twined over hia. 
hauberk, disappeared from my sight, amidst the sha- 
dow of the surrounding turrets. For some time I sat 
motionless, hardly drawing a breath, till the last clank, 
of the unknown's mailed footsteps ceased to strike 
upon my ear. At length all -was silent, save the dis^ 
tant sound of the revelry and wassail, which broke 
upon the stillness of the night, mingling with the 
sullen dash of tho Rhino against tho walls of the 
castle. The billet of tho stranger still rested unopened 
in my hand, or I &hould have believed all that had 
passed to have been the wild creation of a heated 
brain ; but a glanco at tho letter convinced mo of its. 
reality, and, hastily tearing away ihe silk which cour 
fined the vellum,* I cost ray eyes over its contents. 

* Although I have found it necessary to modernize 
greatly the idiom of the manascripr, there were many 
little illustrations of the customs of by-gone days in- 
terspersed, which, I thought might add, in some de- 
gree, to the interest of the tale ; these, therefore, I 
have left unaltered. However,^ °f¥HSt^^' ^^^'^ 



164 



THE GENTLBMAN^S MA€kAZINE. 



Oh ! that I had cast the accuned ecroll iato the moat 
below ; better, far better, would it have been had 
blindnesi struck me, ere I gazed on its fatal charac- 
t«n. And yet, Hirgald, with what rapture, with what 
ecstasy of pleasure did I peruse the lines traced upon 
its folds. I, Uirgald, I ! the desolate, the horned, the 
forsaken, was addressed in the language of respect, 
of love ! Oh ! how my heart bounded with delight to 
know that there waa one being, who did not hold me 
in contempt, and that being so beautiful, nay, even 00 
godlike, in his form. I laughed, I sang, till I sank 
exhapsted, with the delirium of my joy, on my couch. 

" * I have been with you,* were the words of the 
writer, * in your solitary walks— I have watched the 
glimmer of the taper in your lonely turret, when you 
dreamed not of my presence. This, and this only, 
must plead for my present intrusion on your privacy, 
which, to you, I am fearful, must appear both sudden 
and presumptuous. Let your own beauty also plead 
for me— that beauty which (though I lowered my 
Yictorious lance before the throne of the lady Mar- 
guerite) alone poesessed the homage of the heart of 

"'CONKAD W0LF8TEIN.* 

"Wolfttein! Wolfitein! yes, yes! it was, indeed, 
the name that I had heard proclaimed by pursuivant 
and herald, as the victor in the tilt The tourney had 
passed before almost unnoticed on my eye and ear ; 
but now I remembered all — the pawing steeds, the 
glittering mail, the nodding plumes, gonfalon and 
pennon, all was again belbre me. Yes, it was that 
form whom I had seen hurl knight after knight from 
his saddle, till the air rang from barrier to barrier 
with the applause of the spectators ; him, whom I had 
just seen bending before me, low aa a pilgrim at a 
holy shrine. Holy! did I say! What t— what have 
I to do with aught that is holy! 1 that I have no hope 
either in this world or in the eternity to come : I, the 
cursed, the— ~" 

• ♦ * • • 

Here the damp had rendered the writing completely 
illegible for some space. This, however, I did not 
much regret, as the hiatus seemed but to have con- 
tained the wild ravings of a maniac, rather than any 
particular event connected with the interest of the 
narrative. And after drawing my chair nearer to the 
fire, and replenishing my glass, I recommenced the 
perusal of the manuscript. It was continued in these 
words : 

" The festival was over, the revelry had ceased^ 
tho banquet-hall no longer resounded with the ca- 
rousing of the guests ; thoy had all departed from the 
castle save him— him, the adored, the worshipped 
of my heart I wea no longer the miserable, grief- 
stricken being who pined in solitude a few short 
weeks before — I had now something to love, some- 
thing to live for, and I was happy. Yes, Hirgald! 
I was happy, but it was when he was by my aide, 

ture to explain, without oflSmding all my readers, that 
it waa formerly the fashion to ooofine the envelopea 
oflettera with silk. 



in the secret silence of my chamber, when he waa 
breathing the vows of passion in my ear ,* but when 
I saw him riding to the hunt, guiding the rein of 
my sister's palfrey to the gladea of the forest, talk- 
ing with her, smiling with her — hell, hell, seemed 
within my breasf, and I hated Marguerite more and 
more." 

* • * * «t 

A few line* were here also erased, but I was ena- 
bled to pursue the thread of the Mory :^the writing 
was again visible as follows :— 

** The sun had sunk, and I was still standing on 
that grassy hill, Hirgald, where you and I have often 
sat together in the happy days of my childhood— -yoa 
watching the glorious pageantry of the setting stm, and 
[ twining chaplets of the wild flowers for your daifc 
tresses. It was on this hallowed spot that I stood 
listening to the swell of the distant organ and &• 
choral chaunt of the vesper hymn, which came boom- 
ing across the valley from the convent, on which wo 
have so often gazed. The wild, fierce thoughtrwhich 
had filled my mind since my first interview with 
Wolfstein, gradually gave place to a gentle, aoothuig 
calm, and I thought of the days of my innocence ,- I 
thought on my angel mother, and it seemed as if hex 
voice was mingled with the hymn of praise — aa if hex 
spirit was watching over her degraded and guilty 
child. My heart waa aoftened, and I felt that I could 
forgive my sister all'the injuries she had heaped upon 
me — nay, that I could even see her become the bride 
of— of him ! him who had wronged me irreparably, 
and not call down a curse upon her head Just then 
a footstep sounded behind me ; I turned and beheld 
my fiither. He did not pass me, but, pausing by my 
side, he took my hand, and gazed earnestly en my 
pale cheek ;— for an instant, the stem look, vrfaicfa f 
waa accustomed to meet from him, faded from hia 
face, and shading back the hair from my forehead, he 
asked*-' Bertha, are you ill V Those four little worda; 
how they thrilled through me ! They were the fiiat 
words of kindness I had heard from him for years. I 
could not answer him; I was too happy; but flung 
myself on hia breait and wept. My tears did not fall 
vainly,* for my father pressed me closer to hia bosoB, 
and half led, half supported me from the spot Oh! 
then, then, how I loved him. We had just reached 
the foot of the hill when I raised my head from ray 
father's neck, and looked up. Oh, God ! what a form 
was there standing between us and the moonbeam. 
The form, the dress, was that of Wolfstein, as when 
I first beheld him on the ramparts ; but the face ! — a 
glance at that, seemed to scorch my eye-balls to their 
inmost core ; it was not of earth, it was the visage, 
Hirgald, of a fiend! wearing a smile of horrible mockery 
on its detestable features. I gazed but for an instant— 
the air seemed to grow dark and hot around me, and 
felt as if it pressed heavy on my breast— my tongue 
clove to the roof of my mouth, and I sank senseless at 
my father's feet When I recovered my recollecti(Mi, 
my foiher stood over me with a sword gleaming in 
hia hand, as if awaiting the attack of some unseen 
enemy; but the evil spirit was no longer there, the 
moonlight streamed brightly on the spot where it had 

Digitized by VjDOQIC 



THE FIEND LOVER. 



165 



Stood, but fthone only on the long gran waving to and 
bo in the night^wind." 

***** 

« Now, the devil take you," I exclaimed, apoetro 
phifliiig the papers before me, at the ume time puth- 
iog (hem from ma in diFgust. This exclamation was 
caQs^d hf my coming to another huge gap in the 
manuscript, several leaves having been lost or wil- 
fully tern away, and I began to debate with myself 
whether I should or should not continue the task of 
pozzliog through the remainder ; but another bumper 
of my landlord's hock put me into better humor, and 
after sundiy twistings and turnings of the dusty roll, 
1 managed to dccypher the other pages. It recom- 
menced, however, rather abruptly — eventa occupying 
some space of time having apparently been described 
in the portion which was missing. 

"The next day she was to become his bride; I saw 
the vassals adorning the chambers with tapestry and 
flowers. The waiting damsels were broidering the 
bridal kirtle; the minstrels were tuning their rotes 
and rebecks Ibr the marriage-song, and guests were 
sgain thronging to the fortalice to witness the espou- 
sals of the gallant knight, Sir Conrad Wolfstein, and 
Harsuerite, the heiress of the barony of Odenslein. 
Yet, I still lived, I lived to see my cruel, my faithless 
betrayer, revelliog in his triumph over the being 
whose innocence he had blighted— whose shame he 
bad accomplished. My evil thoughts were again with 
me, fierce and horrible as ever. I might have stopped 
the preparations ibr this goodly bridal ; I might have 
blanched the soomful lip of my destroyer, by disclosing 
all, ny nn, my ehamci but I could not I dared not 
meet the anger of my father^ihe scorn of my sister — 
ny soul recoUed from the thought of the daughters of the 
vaoals pointing with the finger, and saying,' there walks 
the dishonored daughter of the house of Odenatein!* 
'No!' I said, ' aooner will I cast myself down from the 
topmost turret of the castle than proclaim it to the world.' 
Hoar after hour passed away;l had wandered towards 
evening to the brink of the Vulture's Pit.* and buried 
myself within the secret recesses of the tangled thick- 
ets vkhich surround the edge of the abyss. A hunting 
match had been held that morning, and as the dark- 
ness deepened around roe, I could hear the hunters 
retoming from tbe chase ; I could hear the aound of 
their bugles, and the baying of the slot-hounds as they 
pused the thicket where I was stationed. But 1 could 
perceive alao by the red light flashing through the 
boogfas, that they carried torches, and to my surprise, 
I beard the name of Marguerite repeated loudly from 
bgrMsan to horseman in all directions, mingled with 
^uts that scared the raven and the eagle from their 
baunts, and ronsed the howl of the wolf in his secret 
lair 

"Amidst the tumult, I could plainly distinguish the 
voice of him who was to play the gallant bridegroom 

* It is difficult — nay, perhaps, almost impossible to 
speak with certainty as to the exact situation of any 
locality mentioned in the manuscript, but from the 
description given, it is roost probable the precipice 
mentioned by the writer, by the name of the Vulture's 
Pit, must have been situated within the forest. 



in the morrow's pageant ;«-he, too, wtfs calling on the 
name of Marguerite. — Ha! ha! ha!— she needed not 
her bridal robes; her tire women might have spared 
I heir labor, for they were woven in vain. But this 
must not be ; my brain is wandering again, and 1 am 
reiol ved ihat you shall know all— ay, all of that dread- 
ful night. The clamor around had at length gradu- 
ally ceased, the torches disappeared one by one, and 
the cries of the hunters, as they rode off again in 
various directions into the recesses of the forest, fell 
fainter and fainter on my ear, until they were heard 
no more. I could now understand the cause of my 
sister's name being so oflen repeated ,* it was plain 
that she had lost her way in the forest, and that the 
hunters were seeking for her through the wood. X<fight 
was casting her dark shade over the earth, but I still 
stood on the verge of the dizzy precipice, while the 
darkness gathered thicker and thicker around me, and 
with it came the darkness of despair. Twice had I 
stepped forward with the intention of hurling myself 
down the gloomy abyss, and as oflen did I recoil ; — I 
tliought of the guiltless babe I bore in my bosom, and 
the mother's heart could not consent to immolate it in 
her own grave ; but my frenzy rose above the cry of 
nature, and I was again rushing to the brink, when a 
rustling among the firs behind me made me pause. I 
looked round, and the flutter of a robe caught my eye; 
a figure approached, and the moon, at that instant, 
struggling from behind the murky clouds which had 
enshrouded her, revealed to mp the form of Margue- 
rite! I shrank back behind the trees, and she came 
still nearer ; but she did not look as 1 had seen her 
ride forth to the hunt in the morning. Her cheek 
was pale, her hair dishevelled, and her riding mantle 
torn in shreds by the briars of the forest, streamed 
loosely in the wind. The deep baying of the wolves 
seamed to fill her heart with terror, and, staggering 
forward, she nearly fell to the ground; but I felt no 
pity for her : — nay, it was even delight to me to see 
that haughty brow humbled, and that stately step 
faltering with fear ; but, when I heard her call on the 
name of Wolfstein, my blood felt curdling at my heart, 
and the night blast, as it swept past me, seemed to 
murmur a fearful thought in my car. Hfrgald, it 
seemed to whisper these words :— • There arc none 
to see, there are none te hear, ^— one step, one thrust, 
and thou msy'st yet be the bride of Wolfstein.' 

« She had approached, unwittingly, to the very 
verge of the chasm;— again I heard the whisper, and 
[ sprang from my hiding-place.*— she started, tottered, 
and, ere my hand could reach her, fell headlong down 
the abyss! A faint cry. a loud crash among the 
branches of the firs, which clothed the upper portion 
of the precipice, and then a dull, heavy sound from 
beneath, proclaimed me the murderer of ray sister. 
Hundreds of birds of prey rose up on all sides, filling 
the air with their discordant cries, and waving their 
dusky pinions, as if rejoicing in the dark deed. Then 
came a deep, horrid silence, more dreadful than all ; 
the howling blast seemed suddenly stilled, and the 
howl of the wolf was no longer heard. I could not 
bear this ;— my brain was burning, and raising my 

bands wildly above my head, I ^^'^^^f^ 9\/*^?jfS^ 

igi ize y v^ 



166 



THB gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



tpirits of the place, to rend the locka and tear np the 
trees with a tempeit,that might annihilate me amidst 
the ruin. My prayer was vain^the storm did not 
arise, and I was once more on the point of plunging 
myself into the chasm ; bat a dark shadow crossed my 
path, just as I gained the edge. — I gazed on it — the 
moonbeam gleamed on the horrible features of that 
being whom I bad once before seen — who had passed 
before me at the tin$e when my better angel was 
striving with the dark spirit within my breast. Yes ; 
it was again before me, with the same fiendish sneer, 
curling its lip, and its eyes glaring on roe with that 
withering glance, on which none of earth might look 
long and live. 

" I remember no more, until I found myself in this 
loathsome cell. They say that I have confessed all ; 
that my father sat in judgment on his child; that ho 
is dead ! I know it not — remember it not ; all is as 
if I had been in a deep sleep. — And Wolfstein, too! — 
Hirgald, thou were wont to say, that all the daughters 
of the house of Odenstein had mated with those of 
gentle blood. — ^What think ye, then, of her, who has 
chosen the prince of hell for herleroan! Ha! ha! ha! 
a goodly mate, for one whose hand is red with a sister*B 



blood. They will tell thee of my madness; bat I am 
not mad. Even now, as I write, he is before me ; — 
turn from him as I will, nay, though I even close my 
eyes, I still behold him ! — Whom, whom, but the fiend 
himself, can have this power t — It is, it must be so. 

But my babe. — ^Hirgald, they have taken it 

from its mother ! Oh, Hirgald, that, at least, is inno- 
cent ;— do not, do not let it be harmed. Let them not 
visit the sins of its mother upon its guiltless head ;— 
it is her last, her dying prayer !^My sight grows 
dim — my child — ^remember. — Farewell." 



** Finis," said f, as I closed the last leaf of the ma- 
nuscript. This was addressed also to the lamp, which, 
for some time, had been rapidly waning in lustre ; 
and the flame, after two or three expiring flashes in 
the socket, went completely out, leaving me in almost 
total darkness. At that instant 1 felt the pressure of a 
heavy hand on my shoulder ; — I looked round, perhaps 
rather hastily; but it was only the substantial form 
of my host, who came to inform me his bed-time had 
arrived, and that he could not allow any guest to re- 
main awake after that hour. M. 



LINES, 



ON REVISITING THE WISSIHICCON. 



BT HUB O. H WATERMAN. 



Where thy sweetly murm*ring river. 

In its glad play. 
To the woods that round thee quiver. 

Weaves a fond lay. 

Where the wild bird loves to listen 

On its still wing. 
As thy silver waters glisten. 

And sweetly sing. 

There I roved in youth and gladness. 

By thy calm side ; 
Now. alone, in woe and sadness, 

Seek I thy tide. 

There, for me no roses springing. 

Twine round my feot ; 
There, no voice in music ringing. 

Brings echoes sweet. 



There, no eye with kindly greeting. 

For me doth shine ; 
There, no heart in fondness beatings 

Answers to mine. 

There, strange echoes only reach me.— 

Years fled and gone. 
Those rude rocks were wont to teach me 

Love's sweetest tone. 

Wissihiccon, thou art gleaming 

Bright as of yore, 
But the heart with gladness beaming. 

Greets thee no more. 

> 
Like a truant bird returning 

To its loved tree. 

So that heart in sorrow yearning. 

Comes back to thee» ^-.^^^T^ 
Digitized by VjOOv IC 



POETS AND THEIR POETRT. 



167 



POETS AND THEIR POETRY. 



THE THIRD PAPER. 



KORNEB. 



(Concladcd fcom Page 134.)] 



The peculiaritiea of the German idiom present for- 
midable barriers to successful translations of our 
author's comic pieces, most of which are written in 
rhyme, end, from their locality, unfit to be rendered 
into English. Komer's chef d'ouvre, the tragedy of 
Zriny, although a work of intrinsic merit, owed much 
of the enthusiasm with which it was received to the 
warlike nature of the times, and the corresponding 
qualities of the scenic heroes and the living warriors 
of the day. The sentiments of patriotism which fell 
iiom the mouths of the Hungarian chiefs, found start- 
ling ecbocf in the breasts of the excited Viennoise, 
who were themselves daring the fury of the conqueror 
in defence of their fatherland. 

Zriny, who has been termed the Hungarian Leoni- 
das, flourished in the sixteenth century; he was re- 
quired by the emperor Maximilian to withstand the 
whole force of the Turkish sultan, Soliman the great, 
and defend his tenure, the fortress Sigeth, to the last 
extremity, without hope of succor. Komer has given 
the characteis of the opposing chiefs with great skill 
and effect The death of Helena by the hands of her 
lover, a fate self-chosen in preference to captivity, 
somewhat startled the niceties of various critical jour- 
nalists, but the approval of Goethe and the nightly 
apphmsa of crowded spectators, established the poet's 
supremacy. There is no lack of situation for stage 
display and theatrical effect in this tragedy ; the catas- 
trophe is, perhaps, too melo^ramatie— a fault peculiar 
to German playwrighis— but the exciting scenes pre- 
ceding the destruction of the castle, scarcely admitted 
another termination ; and the heroic fortitude of the 
hero's wife, who dashes a firebrand into the powder 
magazine, when the fortune of the day decides against 
her husband and her son, elicits the shout of delight 
iiora the spectator, and drowns the <* still small voice" 
of the ATisiarcb in a tumult of applause. The death 
of Boliman- is one of the best coup de thhlres in our 
remembrance. 

Haying given our readers a fair notion of the acting 
qualities of this tragedy, we proceed to quote a few 
extracts from its pages, preferring still the translation 
of Richardson, which, if not the most forcible, is de- 
cidedly the most faithful and literal in its construction. 
The following description of the sultan's entry into 
Belgrade, is curiously particular, and doubtless histo- 
rically correct. 

PEASANT. 

I had in Belgrade an affair of business. 
And when the matter was conclnded, wish'd 
To take my horse and seek again my home. 
Tvas nunor'd in the town, the Sultan came 



With wond'rous splendor, and imposing greatness. 
To make his entrance with his mighty host. 
[ dared not stir abroad, so dreadful was 
The pressure of the thronging people there ; 
So staid within, and thus awaited him. 

First T beheld five thousand janizaries. 
Pioneers, artificers, and all their train ; 
The most of them were well-arm'd, powerful men. 
Then came the slaves, who guard the bashas' baggage. 
On foot and horse, all bearing little banners. 
And fuUowing each the standard of his leader. 
Next was the hunting train and falcon- bearers. 
Then fif\y noble horses led by spahis. 
And aAer them a row of youthful slaves, 
Bearing upon their heads monkeys and parrots, 
And other childish play-things, followed next 
The Boluck bashas came the next to these. 
With richest heron-plumes upon their crest; 
Next slaves of the Seraglio ; then three 
Distinguished bashas, Ferhad, Mustafa, 
And Achmet ; then the basha Mahomed, 
And next the Vizier Basha— he who acts 
As judge within the camp; and then a train 
Of Ttehaouches* and of Solacksl of the Sultan, 
Who dealt their blows with clubs around the crov?d. 
And shot at people's heads that look'd from windows. 
That none might afterwards, exulting, say. 
He had look'd down upon their mighty soTereign. 
Now came the Saltan. An Arabian horse 
Boro the imperial and gorgeous heathen ! 
A sabre richly studded o'er with diamonds 
Hung on his saddle, costly to behold ! 
The Aga Ferhad rode upon his right, 
And spoke with him ; three beglcrs follow'd after ; 
Also three youths, high fav'rites with their lord. 
Who bore his bow and arrows, vest and shawl. 
Then came whole ranks of young and handsome pages, 
Who went before the golden equipage. 
Which was a present from the king of France. 
Next eight more carriages, each not less costly; 
The chosnadar with all his train of slaves. 
Two hundred asses laden each with gold. 
With their attendants, closed the long procession. 
Last came the army, all in proud array— 
*Tia reckon'd at two hundred thousand men, 
And as the people roam'd, at night, abroad, 
I ventured forth in safety, and am come 
With eager haste, by unfrequented ways. 
To bring to yo u, my noble count, the news. 

* A kind of messengers or pursuivants ; iney are 
armed with clubs, and commit dreadful outrages. 

t Archer guards, rudely disci pUn^QOQlC 



168 



THE GENTLBMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



The annexed quotation poetically describes the 
varied qualities of the warrior's dane and the wife 
of the peasant,* from the sentiments expressed, the 
reader may judge of the heroic bearing of (he speaker, 
Eva, " the fitting partner of a soldier's cares." 

Thou yet must learn to conquer thy weak heort, 
If thou, indeed, would'ft be a hero*8 bride, 
And wear the wreath that crowns a life like hers. 
Full many a transport feels the poor man*s wife, 
Who, peaceful in the hut by labor earii'd. 
Doth share with him the fetters of their life ; 
And when their barns and cupboards all are fill'd, 
And produce hath repaid their weary toil. 
While fortune bears them prosperous on her tide, 
And heaves their joyous vessel on her keel, 
Then she rejoices in her well-paid labor. 
And in the eyes of her delighted spouse, 
And in the lively faces of her children. 
As they divert ihem with their varied gifis. 
Life blooms for her all tranquil and serene, 
And sweet enjoyment reconciles her lot! 
But otherwise must be that woman's breast 
Who twines her ivy-blosu>ms of affection 
Around the oak«stem of a hero's love ; 
Each favorable moment she must seize, 
And must retain it as her highest good ; 
Her life must ever float 'iwixt joy and sorrow, 
Twixt pains of hell and highest bliss of heaven ! 
And if her hero, for his country's freedom. 
Would rashly tear him from her arms of love, 
Oflering his bosom to the murderous steel. 
She must confide in heaven and in his valor, 
And prize his honor dearer than his life ! 

Zriny, unable with his diminished force, longer to 
I the walls of the town against his innumerable 
lilanlB, determines to burn the dwellings of the 
burghers, and retire with all his force into the fast- 
nesaea of the citadel. His soliloquy, the night previous 
to the execution of his orders, is beautifully natural. 

ZRINY. (Walks to the window and looks out) 
There lies the city, and a dream of peace 
Yet floats in melancholy o*cr her roofs ; 
The cannons all are still ; the lengthen'd strife 
Hath wearied friend and foe. 'Tit peaceful all ; 
The streets are silent as in times gone by, 
And each duth harmlera seek his own affairs: 
They close their doors, but little think, alas! 
No morning comes to open them again ,- 
They little deem that the destructive lightning 
Which dashes all this lovely dream of peace. 
Already low'ring in the stormy clouds, 
Waits but the hand that fchall direct it down. 
And must my orders wreck this lovely bliss ? 
Heav'n trusts the fate of countless citizens 
Within my bond, and must 1 then destroy them? 
And can I, dare I ask for life to come ? 
Yet I must cast my ow-ti, too, in the hazard. 
Offer my wife, my child, and all my friends, 
Who willingly have trusted to my fortunes. 
And they must, guiltless, share in my destruction. 
Alas, poor innocent i thus, spreading death. 
Dare I arrest heav'n's angel in his course. 



Destroying what f built notf Darest thou, S^rinyf^ 

What sadden burst of melancholy's this ? 

What mean'st thou by these woman's tears, old heio^ 

Thy country now requires thine arm alone. 

And thou may'st pat no question to thy feeliogaf 

Nearly the whole of Korner's miscellaneous poemi 
partake of a warlike character, and breathe the most 
fervent devotion to his fatherland. " Der Kynast," 
is the title of some eighty stanzas, descriptive of an 
ancient legend connected with a mountain fortresa ia 
the Riesengeberg ; and ^ Adelaide'* is another ^eisifi- 
cation of the old story of the Spectre Bride. Tie 
following verses were composed at the jsarly part of 
his young career. 

THE MINER'S LIFE. 
The youth descends the gloomy mine. 
Master of the world divine. 
That lies within the deep earth's womb. 
Where no sunlight cheera the gloom.; 
And the youth must draw his breath 
Amid that gloomy realm of death. 
And when, to run his daily rounds. 

The son starts forth the day to bless. 
Hark! the mountain all resounds 

With the miner's word, ** Soccees V^ 

Tis silence all — and see, a band ' 
Of shadowy spectres round us stand ! 
Yet we hold them not in fear { 
Miners all are masters here ; 
We their various tasks assign. 
And bid them labor in the mine, 
For they must obey our will 

By an everlasting ban ; 
And we rule these spirits still 

By a potent talisman. 

And the Naids all, who lave 

Their beauteous forms in crystal wn.'vCt 

Along the mine delight to steal. 

And turn, with magic hand, the wheel ; 

They love to mark its mighty sound, 

As It fiercely rushes round ! 

Vulcan, too, assists our arts, 

V*ulcan of immortal birth ! 
Tis wi;h aid that he imparts 

We o'ercome the stabborn earth f 

Oft with Proserpine's dread spouse. 
Wo are pledged in friendship's vows; 
His realm we seek, and wander there, 
Along the frail and fragile stair. 
Yet, from that abyss of gloom. 
Lies an egress from the tomb. 
For a pathway from the grave 

Is open to the realms above ; 
And thus we, fearless, seek the cave 

That's shut from heaven's own looks of love. 

Through descents so deep and long. 
Through the gall'ries how we throng ! 
And trust to find a pathway sure 
O'er the yawning gulf secure. . • 

Thus, without delay or fear, OQiC 
We pursue our journey here. 



POSTS AND THBIB POBTRT. 



169 



ADd we build our metal walk 

In that dreary realm below, 
At we ahottt throughout its ball*, 

Reaponsive to the sturdy blow! 

See I beneath our hammer*' force, 
Ricbeat bleasinga take their course ; 
All that we from earth have won 
Glow* ascending to the sun : 
And we spread the glittering spoil, 
FmilB of many a weary toil. 
And our task is nobly paid 

When stores of gold and diamonds bright, 
And all that dwells in yonder shades. 

We unfold to heaven's own light .' 

Thus, in earth's remotest viomb. 

Brightest blessings for us bloom ; 

And a fair and lovely ray 

Gleams along our gloomy way. 

And that lovely light divine 

Would seem to tempt us from the mioe ; 

But we're constant to the plight 

Which our parent earth may crave; 
And the everlasting night 

Shall wrap ua in our mo4her*« grave I 

" Lataow's Wild Chase," written in honor of the 
Lotaow Free Corps, a band of volunteers with wHom 
he braved the terrors of the battle-field, is a spirit- 
stiniDg soldier's song, and must have been deservedly 
popular amongst the members of that brave band. 

LUTZOW'S WILD CHASE. 
What ia it that beams in the bright sunshine. 

And eehoea yet nearer and nearer 7 
And see! how it spreads in a long dark line, 
Aad bark ! how its horns in the distance combine 

To impress with afinght the hearer ! 
And ask ye what means the daring race ? 
Thia i*-^LQtaow's wild and desperate chase ! 

See, they leave the dark wood in silence all. 

And from hill to hill are seen flying ; 
In amboah they'll lie till the deep nightfall. 
Then ye'U hear the hurrah! and the rifle ball ! 



And the French will be falling and dying ! 
And ask ye what means their daring race ? 
This is — Lutzow's wild and desperate chase! 

Where the vine-bows twine, the Rhine waves roar! 

And the foe thinks its w^rs shall hide him ; 
But see, they fearless approach the shore. 
And they leap in the stream, and swim proudly o'er. 

And stand ort the bank beside him! 
And ask ye what means the daring race f 
This is— Lutzow's wild and desperate chase! 

Why roars in the valley the raging fight. 

Where swords clash red and gory ? 
O fierce is the strife of that deadly fight, 
For the spark of young freedom is newly alight, 

And it breaks in flames of glory ! 
And ask ye what means tlie daring race ? 
This is— Lutzow's wild and desperate chase! 

See yon warrior who lies on a gory spot, 

From life compeU'd to sever; 
Yet he never is heard to lament his k>t. 
And his soul at its parting shall tremble not. 

Since his country is saved for ever ! 
And if ye will ask at the end of bia race, 
StUl 'tit— >Lutzow's wild and desperate chase ! 

The wild chaae, and the German chase 

Against tyranny and oppression ! 
Therefore weep not, loved friends, at this last embrace. 
For freedom has dawn'd on our lov'd birth-place. 

And our deaths shall insure its possession ! 
And 'twill ever be said from rare (o race, 
Thia was — Lutzow's wild and desperate chase! 

Sheridan averred that '^ every thing sufiered by a 
translation, except a bishop." It is barely possible \o 
give in tranalation, an honest idea of the worth of a 
national song, abounding with Teutonic idioms and 
rich in the free use of the vernftcular of the district. 
We have before us three different versions of Komer** 
celebrated " Song of the Sword," from pens of ac- 
knowledged merit— our readers will perceive, in the 
following detached verses, some little variation in the 
methods employed to express the author's ideas. 



From a Leipzig editioD aS Flowers of 
Or 



The Same Verses Translated by G. 
Richardson. 



ienoan Poetry. 

With smoke around him spreading Of our glad bridal morning 
The bridegroom seeks the wedding. The trumpet shall give warning ; 
When swells the cannon's roar, Amid the cannon's strife 
Then ope thy chamber door. I'll seek my warrior wife. 



The Same Verse • TramUited by E, B. 
Impey. 

l^he roar of cannon spreading; 
Shall harbinger our wedding : 

And 'mid the trumpets' bray, 

ril bear my love away. 



I cannot choose but rattle 
With longing for the battle. 
Tie this that makes me glow, 
And danee, and glitter so. 

In vain delay opposes; 

I long to pluck the roses. 
All redly aa they bloom — 
The flowrets of the tomb. 

Then with a soldier's kisses, 
Ptflake yova bridal blisses. 
HI amy the wretch betide 
Whoe'er deaerts his bride ! 



O well may I be dancing. Within my sheath I'm clanking. 

When spear and shield are glancing; Impatient to be ranking 
When I expect the fight, With warriors, brave I 

Well may I gleam so bright. Athirst for deeds of war. 



Then be not long in staying, 
I cannot brook delaying, 
But, rather red and gory, 
I'd win my way to glory. 



O tarry not, I'm longing 
With foemen to be thronging, 
Yon garden grim, where gowa * 
Death, like a blood-red rose. 



Then, comrades, snatch your blisses, Then let each arm enriron. 
And print the steel with kisses ; Hia lusty bride of iiOD. 
And when that spell is tried, And woe and foul disgrace, 

Say, who'd forsake his bride ? Betide the faint embrace. [^ 

W. £. & 



170 



THB GBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



EXTRACTS FROM 

THE JpURNAL OF A PASSENGER 

FEOU 
PHILADELPHIA TO NEW ORLEANS. 



BT FR0FE8B0& INGRABAM. 
Author of Lafitte, Burton, or The Seiget, &c. 



(Continued from Page 95.) 



LEAF No. ri. 



A CALM^SUDDKH FIBH-H9UN-FI9H— ITS ELKCTRIO 
POWER — ^HKDUflA—A BRKEZC ON THE WATER — 
8TAR OAZINC3 THE INFLUENCE OF BTARB IN CAL- 
LING UP THOUGHTS OF HOME—BAILORS ADIEU TO 
THE NORVH ITAR— THE LAND OF FLOWERS— JUAN 
PONCE ^DE LEON^THE FOUNTAIN OF PERPETUAL 
TOUTH — AN IRREMEDIABLE LOBS TO SINGLE GEN- 
TLEMEN^GULF STREUM — NEW PROVIDENCE — CUBA 
^FAN OF MATANZAB— BLUE HILLS OP CUBA — AN 
ARMED GRUI2ER — HAVANA — TEMPEST^ CAPE ST. 
ANTONIO— PIRATES — ENTER THE MEXICAN GULF- 
MOBILE — A SOUTHERN WINTER— A FAREWELL TO 
THE NORTH AND A WELCOME TO THE SOUTH. 

During the period we lay becalmed under a 
bumiDg san, which, though entering its winter sols- 
tice, retained the fervor of summer fire, we passed 
Che most of our time in the little cockle-shell of a 
yawl, (as though the limits of our ship were not con- 
fined enough,) riding listlessly upon the long billows, 
or rowing far out from the ship, which, with all her 
light sails furled, rolled heavily upon the crestless 
billows, suggesting the anomalous idea of power in a 
Btate of helplessness. 

On the second a/lemoon of our becalmed 8tate> we 
were floating under the stern of the ship, whose image, 
cast upon the polished surface of the sea, was undula- 
tingly reflected with a distinctness and accuracy of 
outline, which rivaled the original, and amusing our- 
selves with watching the little elastic rudder-fish 
which played in shoals around the stern, when a lady 
suddenly called out from the quarter-deck — 

" Oh, see that beautiful sun-fish !" and, at the same 
instant, a laige transparent mass of gelatinous matter, 
which I can compare only to a flattened globe of 
melted or consolidated light, floated directly under our 
eyes. 

"Catch it! catch it!" was the eager cry ; but, af- 
^ghted apparently by the slight agitation of the wa- 
ter, caused by our unskilful eflbrts to scoop it up, it 
suddenly disappeared ; but in a few moments, when 
the commotion of thtf water caused by our attempt to 
■ecare it, had subsided, some one on the deck above 
directed our attention to it rising slowly again to the 
Ediface, on the other side of the boat ; we now per- 



mitted it to float undisturbed, that we migbt observe 
its conforma'tion and motions more particularly. It 
was a jellied, animated subBtance, in appearance no: 
unlike luscious Uanc mange, the size of an ordinary 
hat crown, but of an oval, rather than a circular Ibrm. 
The under surface was apparently jpbne or flat, x^hile 
the upper was slightly convex, as though expanded 
with air. 

Numerous flesh-colored membranes, like threads 
of silk floss, from three inches to two feet in length, 
radiated from its attenuated edge, and spread out upon 
the water, as the long hair of a swimmer floats around 
his head. On placing my finger under one of these 
delicate tendrils — which seemed to be wholly inde- 
pendent of the animal — to raise it frqm the vrater, I 
experienced a sensation of acute pain, not unlike the 
sting of a wasp, where it had come in contact with 
my finger, which instantly compelled me to drop it 
again, when the whole sensitive mass suddenly van- 
ished beneath the surface. 

This fish is oAon confounded by passengers and 
others with the sun-fish, (diodon,) which it in no way 
resembles. By the sailors it is called the sea-nettle— 
a most appropriate appellation, as my finger to this, 
now the third day, can testify. From the fibrous 
beard of this animated mass of jelly, the generic name 
medusa has been given it, probably in commemoraiion 
of this gorgon's beautiful tresses; but more justly, if 
stings are to be taken into consideration, it should 
have been bestowed in honor of her luxuriant lociis 
when changed by the indignant Minerva into sei- 
petits. 

An hour befi)re sunset our long-idle sails were once 
more filled by a fine breeze, which, rufiling the sur- 
face of the ocean, more than a league distant, we had 
discerned coming from the Florida shore, some time 
before it reached us ; and, as it came slowly onward, 
over the sea, we watched, with no little anxiety, the 
agitated line of waves which danced merrily before 
it, making its approach. 

As I stood upon the deck, last evening, listening 

" To the cadence of the silveiy sea," 
and gazing, with f^elinj^ ^f a melancholy nature, not 



THE JOURNAL OF A PASSENGER. 



171 



uaallied, I believe, to home-sickneM, upon belted 
Orion as be circled upward from tbe east, tbe social 
Fleaides. wbose lost sister has been lo beautifully 
apostxopbized by Mrs. Hemans, and the bright twin 
Stan of heaven, the 



• burning emblems of Friendship," 



and let my wakeful eyes wander, lingeringly, from 
star to star, with which delightful communion from 
my earliest years, had made me familiar, I gave wing 
to chainlesB memory, fur the bright worlds on which 
I gazed, irresistibly called up the most pleasing asso- 
ciations of the past Though glittering higher in the 
firmament, and burning in these southern skies with 
a purer lustre, there still rolled on above me the same 
huzning urns of light which I had gazed upon night 
after night from my native land. 1 could hardly be- 
lieve that I was now sailing over distant seas, while 
olrjects, with a delightful freshness, so intimately re* 
called reminiscences of Home, looked down upon me 
from their blue abodes. 

Wandering in distant lands or sailing upon the 
boondless ocean, far from the land of our birth, there 
is no link that will so intimately connect our thoughts 
with it as the stars. 



• A light they shed 



O'er each old fount and grove. 
Linking the thoughts with scenes of youth. 
Call back the heart they once have stirr'd. 
To childhood's holy home." ^ 

When the sailor, who nightly watches the polar star, 
descending lower and lower the northern skies, as his 
ship bears him farther into the southern hemisphere, 
till it twinkles like d pale lamp upon the level hori- 
sm, at length beholds with a heavy heart its final 
disappearance beneath the sea; and sees glittering 
above him magnificent stars unfamiliar to his eye, and 
strange, beautiful constellations, he begins then, for 
the first time, sensibly to realize that he has. become 
a wanderer indeed — an exile from his native shies. 

We are now bounding forward with a fresh wind 
over the olive-green waters of the Mexican Gulf, and 
rapidly approaching the termination of our long im- 
prisonment, 

^ Cooped in this winged sea-girt citadel." 

As we mechanically cast our eyes over the sea, on 
coming on deck the fourth rooming afler passing the 
Hole- in- the- Wall, we beheld, to our surprise, the low 
shores of Florida, distant not more. than six or seven 
leagues to leeward. 

A faintly delineated gray bank, lining the western 
horizon, marked the ** Land of Flowers"— of the roman- 
tic Ponce de Leon. Can that be Florida ! the Ptuqua de 
Flores of the Spaniards — the country of blossoms and 
living fi}untains, welling with perpetual youth! were 
our reflections as we gazed upon the low, marshy 
shore. Yet here the avaricious Spaniard sought for 
a mine more precious than the diamonds and gold of 



the Incas! a fountain, whose waters were represented 
to have the wonderful property of rejuvenating old 
age and perpetuating youth ! Hore every wrinkled 
Castilian lolas expected to find a Hebe to restore him 
to the bloom and vigor of Adonis ! But alas, for the 
bachelors of modem days, the seeker for /ountatns of 
eternal youth wandered only through inhospitable 
wilds, and encountered the warlike Seminoles, who, 
unlike the timorous natives of the newly discovered 
Indies, met his little band with bold and determined 
resolution. After a long and fruitless seareh, he re- 
turned to Porto Rico, wearied, disappointedj and, no 
doubt, with his brow more deeply furrowed than when 
he set out upon this singularly romantic expedition. 

While we glided along the Florida shore, which 
was fast receding from tbe eye, a sudden boiling and 
commotion of the sea, which we had remarked some 
time before we were involved in it, assured us that 
we had again entered the Gulf Stream, where it 
rushes from the Mexican sea, after having made a 
broad sweep of eighteen hundred miles, and in twenty 
days after emerging from it in higher latitudes. Our 
course was now very sensibly retarded by the strong 
current against which we sailed, though impelled by 
a breeze which would have wafted us over a current- 
less sea, nine or ten miles an hour. 

The Bahamas we were rapidly leaving far behind, 
the lost island of which to the westward. New Pro- 
vidence — another of Engliihd's colonial isles, we just 
caught a glimpse of, appearing afar off, like a little 
cloud resting upon the sea. In the afternoon, the blue 
hills of Cuba, elevated above the undulating surface 
of the island, and stretching along its back like a ser- 
rated spine, reared themselves from the sea, far to the 
south ; and, at sunset, the twin hills of Matanzas, for 
which sailors' imaginations have conjured up not the 
most pleasing oppellation^could be just distinguished 
from the blue waves on the verge of the ocean ; and 
receding from the sea, with an uneven surface, the 
vast island rose along the whole southern horizon, not 
more than four or five leagues distant. The Florida 
shore had long before disappeared, though several 
vessels were standing towards it, bound apparently 
into Key West, between which and Havana we had 
seen an armed schooner, under American colore, hover- 
ing tbe whole afternoon. 

As we dashed through the agitated sea in the strait 
between the two shores, the site of Havana was 
pointed out to us by one of the officers ; but we were 
too far off to see the great city herself, sitting, like 
ancient Tyre, " upon the sea," majestic with domes, 
cathedrals and towers— encircled with her thousand 
ships and crested by the impregnable More. 

Numerous vessels, from the sluggishly moving mar- 
ket lugger, and polacca, to the Spanish line-ship, were 
clustered in that direction, indicating the location of 
some great commercial mart. Although the city was 
hid beneath the horizon, the upper half of the island 
was clearly visible above it, and the lofty hills, in the 
interior reared their round summits high over the 
convexity of the earth. 

It was fortunate for some of oar tyros that we were 
not bound into Havana: a few nJlesfariher, south 

y VjC 



Digitized by' 



lOogle 



172 



THE GENTLEMAN a MAGAZINE. 



woald have placed ub within the tropics ; and ihe 
penalty of crosaing even a tropical line, to say nothing 
of the equator itself, ia by no means a small one to 
noviciates. From time, *' whereunio the memory of 
man runneth not to the contrary," it has been cus- 
tomary for Neptune to appear in proper person over 
the bows of every ship as it crosses cither of hi5s three 
lines which he has strung across the sea, and demand 
tribute or toll, of all on board, who, fur the first time 
have adventured thus far upon his rightful domain. 
In case of a refusal to pay the required fee, which is 
usually a glass of grog all round to the ship's crew — 
for they are the old sea god's children, who has a 
particular affection for them, and is always studying 
their welfare — the delinquent is lathered and shaved 
after a very summary process. 

One pleasant afternoon, in latitude 0°, just after an 
equatorial cataract had deluged our decks as though 
a cloud had burst over the ship, and while the suu 
wag-shining out cheerfully from the summit of a moss 
of black clouds, piled in huge strata, one upon another, 
I was gazing upon the sea, sheeted with golden sun- 
light, when an object, glancing brightly over the 
l>ows, flashed upon my eyes. The next moment the 
head and staff of a tri-pronged instrument, used to 
■pear dolphin, rose above the cat-head, slowly followed 
by the shaggy head and hairy shoulders of an amphi- 
bious being, who, from the train of monsters who at- 
tended him — some leaping over the bows into the 
ship, others coming' up through tho forecastle, must 
Lave been an august personage. Ho stepped upon 
the deck with great dignity, 8up(X)rting his form with 
hii trident. His appearance was most majestic! His 
head was surmounted by the ship's swab, wliose 
brown tresses descended half- \i^ ay to the deck, and 
his locks were crowned with the cook's tripod. A 
pair of leather spectacles bridged his nose, under 
which stood fiercely out two muslachoes of tarred 
oakum. A long, black beard, of the same material, 
carefully slushed and tarred, descended to his waist ; 
in his right hand he held the grains for his trident, 
in his left a tin pot to receive the toll. His body 
was girt about with divers nameless teguments, and 
like a true god, his lower extremities were bare. His 
attendants were similarly accoutred, though instead 
of a trident they each bore a segment of an iron hoop 
in one hand, and a small swab, dipped in tar, in tho 
other. The whole train now moved towards us : 

" Quel noble spectacle s'avance ? 
Neptune, le grand dieu Neptune, avec sacour 
Vient honorer ce beau eejour, 

De son auguste presence.'* 

We were already prepared for this pageant, and re- 
ceived the old god with all due ceremony, not forget- 
ting the tin cup, with which the old deity and his 
train " shot the sun," for a while after reaching the 
quarter-deck, with untiring diligence. 

There was on board an irascible little Welshman, 
a steerage passenger, who sent the tin pot away 
empty. Incontinently four brawny arms laid him 



across the hatch, face upward — two lively hands ap- 
plied the tarred swabs to his visage, till it was most 
skilfully lathered — two others, armed with iron hoopa, 
commenced removing his beard, in the gentlest man- 
ner imaginable, by the roots, while Neptune soused a 
bucket of salt water over the furious little fellow, by 
way of lavender. 

This custom is done away with, at present, I be 
lieve, in the navy, in which, at such seasons, all dis- 
cipline ceases, although it is still practised in mer- 
chantmen. 

The night set in dark and tempestuous. The wind 
howled wildly and mournfully through the rigging. 
The noise of the waves as they dashed against the 
sides of the trembling ship — the loud reports of the 
collapsing sails — the roar of the surrounding sea — the 
melancholy cries of the lal)oring seamen, with the 
roar of the rain as it poured down upon the hollow 
sounding deck ,in floods — the rattling of thunder and 
the incessant gleaming of lightning, altogether com- 
bined, rendered the night gloomy in the extreme. 

In the earlier part of the evening, during an occa- 
sional interval of the tremendous showers, we went 
to the deck, enveloped in cloaks and pea-jaeketa, to 
enjoy the sublimely terriflo scene. So incessant waa 
the fearful flashing of the lightning that the ocean 
seemed sheeted with flame. Black clouds, illumined 
with an almost steady glare from the lightnings, as 
ihey shot wildly across the heavens, lowered heavily 
and threateningly over the ship; and around the ho- 
rizon, the thunder rolled unceasingly— one continued 
reverberation ; but occasionally a sharper and louder 
report would break above our heads, with a terrific 
effect upon the senses. The sea roared and surged 
on every side, with a tremendous noise, and now and 
then a high wave would strike against the sides of the 
unresisting ship, with a fearful concussion, or angrily 
leap upon the decks and completely deluging them, 
flow onward thr<^gh the ship, a deep and ungovern- 
able torrent. 

Yet, amid the terrors of this scene, 

" So wild and dread 

That the bravest paled with fear," 

stood the youthful M , her delicately feminine 
figure supported by a rope, which she held firmly in 
her grasp, enjuying this scene of wild splendor with 
a fearless and almost infantine delight. Repeatedly 
drenched by the uncourteous w^ves, she would not 
descend to the cabin, but flinging the drops of water 
from her hair, laughed merrily at the sad lamentations 
of her similarly favored fellow passengers, who, from 
feu of being drowned, without knowing it in their 
state rooms, preferred being half drowned by remain- 
ing on deck during the existence of t^e danger. 

The ship rolled and pitched fearfully; groaning 
and quivering as she struggled, like a drowning ani- 
mal, through the deep trough of the sea, occasionally 
plunging so deep into their yawning chasms that she 
seemed repeatedly, during the night, to have gone 
down under the surface of the sea, never to rise 
again. 

Digitized by VjOOQiC 



T O 



CAMEO, 



173 



The morniDg broke over a more placid scene. The 
billowi of the " broken-up deep" weresubaiding — the 
tempest of the night had retired to the turbulent re- 
gions of the Golf Stream, and the sea reflected the 
dasding sun in crests of flame. 

Cape St. Antonio, the notorious rendezvous of that 
daring band of pirates, ^hich, possessing the maraud- 
ing, without the chivalrous spirit of the old Buccaneers, 
long infested these seas, just protruded above the rim 
of the horizon, far to the south east We soon lost 
dght of it, and, in the evening altering our course a 
little, to avoid the shoals which are scattered thickly 
ofl'ihe ■outhem and western extremity of Florida, ran 
rapidly and safely past the Tortugas—the Scylla and 
Charybdie of this southern latitude ; and are, at this 
moment, stretching away over the Gulf, or more pro- 
perly Sea of Mexico, with the prospect of speedily 
tenninatiiig our protracted voyage. 

Mobile is just ahead of us: in the direction of which 
M I left the deck, we could discern a large ship pro- 
hably freighted with cotton, and bound oat. But 
there was no lend in sight. 



We already begin to appreciate the genial influence 
of a southern climate. The sun, tempered by a plea- 
sant wind, beams down upon us, warm and cheerily— 
the air is balmy and laden with grateful fragrance 
from the unseen land; and, though near the first of 
December, at which time, you dwellers under the 
wintry skies of the north, are shivering over your 
grates, we have worn our summer garments and palm- 
leaf hats fur some days past. If this is a specimen 
of a southern winter, where quietly to inhale the mel- 
low air is an Elysian enjoyment — henceforth sleighing 
and skating will have less charms for me. Farewell 
to the land of ice and snow— farewell to the ** stormy 
north !" and welcome thou 



« — .- land of glorious flowers. 
And summer winds, and low-toned silvery streams, 
with the light 



On thy blue hills and sleepy waters cast 
From purple skies, ne'er deepening into night" 
[Te be continued.] 



TO A CAMEO, 

WORIV BY MISS C , OF GEORGIA 



■ V J. H. WIFfLIN, 4ftTIST, P B IL A D KL? H 1 A . 



Tho' loTeljr the looks of fair Italy's daughlen. 
There sculpCort in vain for perfection may seek, 

(They cannot well come to thee over the waters,} 
But welcome its nearest approach, in the Greek. 

And y«t id tkat land we consider Elysian, 
Sedtt^Ung with glory, and halbw'd with aong. 

The ftms wlueh are flt for a look or re-visioo; 
Are tMods that only to soolptmre belong. 

And such ia the face of this beautiful creature, 
The artist imagined, no doubt, was hia best ; 

Nor thought for a moment that ever a feature. 
Or look half so lovely, upon it could rest. 

Hard heard of America— yes, very oAen.— 
(Hm ahella that he wrought they all came from 
Biaiil,)* 

With haid-hearted savage»— nothing could soften— 
And squaws who were ngly— he peopled it stUl ! 



The Georgians, he knew, were a race AsiatSe, 
He'd heard that they sold fbr their beauty cjaita 
well{ 
But never it pass*d thro' his thoughts most erratic. 
That Georgian's more lovely— mow weatwird 
could dwell! 

Then pardon !-*his ignorance do not be btamiog, 
He never saw face that was lovelier before; 

Ah! could he see thine, his fair cameo shaming, 
I fear he'd cut cameo-cutting— once more. 

This sweet classic face, of a texture Atlantic, 
Enclosed by the ore of thy own Georgian earth, 

Resembles thyself with thy beauty romantic. 
Encircled by friends who can value thy worth. 

Yes, golden the band of the friends who surround thee, 
And lovely the land where thy destinies rest ; 

But thou lendest magic to all that is round thee— 
The cameo borrows its charm from thy breast 



• The beet sh^le lor the oameo, in which the two strata of different colors aie distinctly marked, cone 
(nm thn cowt of America, and are wrongjbt moat beautifully in Naples. r^r^r^i^ 

▼eL. 111. H Digitized by V^OOglC 



174 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



UNPUBLISHED PASSAGES 



IN THE UFE OF 



VIPOCQ, THE FRENCH MINISTER OP POLICE. 



No. I. 
MARIE LAURENT. 



It wai a matter of sorpriae to eveiy one, how eo 
amiable and well-dispoeed a girl aa Marie Dupin 
could ever become the wife of such a worthleas man 
ai Anloine Laurent. He had nothing to recommend 
him save bis outward form ; for his disposition and 
propensities were of the woist and lowest kind ; and 
none of those persons in his native village, who stood 
lair with the world, were ever desirous of associating 
with him; and the small property his father left him, 
consisting only of a few acres of land, was fast dwin- 
dling away, to meet his frequent necessities. 

But the truth was, Marie loved him with sincere 
affection in early years; they had been much to- 
gether — their parents having been neighbors; and 
long ere the vices of the man had shown themselves, 
she had leart to call him her own Antoine, whilst he, 
in return, called her his dearest Mari& So often had 
they dwelt on the future (hat was to see them united, 
that it became too firmly fixed in her imagination 
ever to be removed. She could not, indeed, remain 
ignorant of the character he acquired as he grew in 
years, or that when any act of violence or daring was 
mentioned, he was sure to be named as the leader ; 
but she thought the world was harsh — too quick in 
. condemnation, and wrong in attributing those acta 
as the oflbpring of a bad heait, which were but the 
outfareakings of an ardent, youthful disposition. She 
had often heard that a reformed rake makes the best 
husband ; but slfe did not look farther to see what a 
confirmed reprobate would be likely to make. She 
was all confidence in the success of her plans for his 
reformation, and being an orphan and without con< 
trol, she gave herself and her little property to the 
free possession of him who already had her heart. 

The few first weeks of their union no one could be 
more attentive than Antoine ; and Marie became con- 
firmed in her opinion, that his acts had been too 
harshly construed by the world, and his youthful 
errors would soon merge in the fond husband. Poor 
Marie ! she saw not in the calm the forerunner of the 
storm which was impending over her. He soon gave 
way to the true bent of his disposition ; joined his 
former lawless associates; made long and frequent 
absences from home, and returned, generally, in a 
savage and discontented humor, to find fault with 
«Teiy thiBg, and would sit for hours wrapped up in 



his meditations, scarce noticing the anxious attentions 
of his wife. 

In a few months time she Ibund that poverty was 
fast gaining upon them. Antoine had sold all their 
property, and spent all the proceeds in riot and de- 
bauchery ; and, to crown her unhappiness, her hus- 
band, joining some of his associates, left forever the 
place of his birth, bearing with him the ill wiahea of 
all who knew him, save one-— his forsaken wife, who, 
amidst all his unkindness and unrequited aflbction, 
still fondly loved him, and wished him well where- 
ever his course might lead him. 

Marie wm too much a favorite in the village to 
have any doubts as to her being able to maintain her- 
self by her industry, and gladly accepted the ofler of 
a Madame Germain to become her own immediate 
attendant. 

Madame Germain was the wife of a private gen- 
tleman, of some considerable property, who had re- 
sided many years in the midst of his estates, passing 
his time in endeavoring to ameliorate the condition 
of his tenantry, and enhance the value of his property 
by his own superintendence. Marie was much 
esteemed by all, and would have lived truly happy 
had not her mind been clouded with evil forebodings 
of her husband's fate. 

Years passed on and fottnd Marie still with Madame 
Germain, who had removed to Paris, for the benefit 
of her children's education. She still remained igno- 
rant of wliat had befallen hor husband, or even of 
his existence, and had gradaally brought heiself to the 
belief that they had parted forever. 

She was one day witnessing a review in the Champ 
de Mars, and paying deep attention to the manoeuvres 
of the troops, when suddenly she felt her reticule 
snatched from her hand; she turned round to see 
who had robbed her, but every body seemed attend- 
ing to the scene before them. It was dear the bag 
was gone, but as there was little of consequence in it, 
she was too much of a Frenchwoman to be annoyed, 
and in admiration of a charge of cavalry, which was 
then taking place, quite forgot her loss. 

" Bless my soul !*' cried some one ; " well, I declare, 
it is the oddest thing in the worid ! What ! Marie, 
my girl ! you hav'nt forgot me, have you f *' 

Hearing her name, she tamed to see th«j m«ker. 
Digitized by VjOOQLC 



PASSAGES IN THB LIFB OF TIDOCq. 



175 



Th«ra were three ill-dreaied looking men Btanding^ 
ttigedier, one of whom die recognized as h«r hatband. 

" Ah ! Antoine ! ia that you !" 

" Yea, my dear, it is indeed me. I tuppoae you 
thought me dead V* 

"I had feared aa much, Antoine." 

" Aye, 80 many thought; I got through it, though; 
but blen my politeneas ; here, Le Coq and Petit Singe, 
aibw me to introduce yon to my wife." 

Hie friendfl lifted up their red nightpcaps, and pro- 
f ew e d themielvea much honored in being introduced 
to the wife of auch a *'braTe enfiint as Antoine Lau- 

Much as Marie had wished to see her husband, she 
ooald not but feel that their meeting would be the 
source of much pain to her. His appearance, and 
that of his companions, was strongly indicative of 
their profession, and she had little doubt, in her own 
Bind, that one of the gentlemen had taken her bag. 
It was with feelings of sadness she accompanied An- 
tome and the Sieun Le Coq and Petit Singe to a 
cabuet in the neighborhood. 

Antoine's story was short According to his own 
aoeount he had been in the army, and left it, because 
be fi>aDd a military life too irksome for a man of spirit 
like himself; and Le Coq had been a brother in arras. 
BeCit Singe, to be sure, had not been in the army, but 
then he had a wish to go there, and that was the same 
thing. After he had told Marie aU he had to say 
cooeeming himself and ftiends, he was very desirous 
to hear how she had done since misfortune, as he 
called it, forced him from a wife he loved more than 
all the world ; and drew such a picture of the anguish 
he had felt in leaving her, that it moved Petit Singe 
enren to tears, or at least to the occasional pressing 
the tassel of his night-cap, first to one eye and then to 
the other, as if he were much moved at his friend's 



When Marie had stated the truth, her husband be- 
came eztremely anxious in his inquiries, as to whether 
Bfonsieur Germain was rich, kept many servants, and 
was regular in his hours. The answers, he said, 
were very satisfactory; because, though he had led a 
leving kind of life himself, yet he should have be^n 
eztremely unhappy to think his wife was living in 
any other than a respectable family ; and as Le Coq 
knew that he had often expressed himself most 
anxious that his dear wife might not be prejudiced in 
the good opinion of others, by his own follies. At the 
beginning of this speech Petit Singe had caught hold 
of his tassel, but not finding any thing sufficiently 
sad for a tear, contented himself with a long drawn 
ah, and declared that he had heard him say so at 
least a thousand times ; and Le Coq, who was a roan 
of taciturn habits, bobbed his head in token of as- 



The result of this interview was a promise, on the 
part of Antoine, to see his wife on the following day, 
who engaged to supply him with money to enable 
him to look more respectable ; and if he would reform 
she did not doubt being able, through Monsieur Ger- 
main's kindness, to procure him some situation, by 
which he might obtain an honest livelihood. 



He did not fail to see his wife on the following 
day, and became very assidious in his attentions, 
vowed his afiection was undiminished, and scarcely 
allowing a day to pass that he did not look in at Mon- 
sieur Germain's to see oer. He repeatedly declared, 
too, he had suffered so much in his wild way of life, 
that his only wish now was to settle down quietly 
with his dear Marie, and support themselves by honest 
industry. 

One night, as I was going my rounds with some of 
my men, I perceived, loitering about at the corner of 
one of the streets, an old acquaintance of mine, the 
Sieur Petit Singe, and it was very evident that he 
could not be waiting about so late at night for any 
good purpose, and as he had not perceived me, I de- 
termined to watch him unobserved. In a few minutes 
he was joined by another acquaintance of mine, the 
Sieur Le Coq, when they walked together some way 
up the street, until they cane to a large house, aiul 
Petit Singe, looking round to see if any penons were 
near, gave a gentle tap at the door, which, to my 
surprise, was instantly opened to him. This wav 
strange ! The house belonged to Monsieur Germain, 
and I could not believe that the two gentlemen, who 
had just gone in, were carrying on an intrigue with 
any of the servants, since nature had not moulded 
either of them in otie of her most favorable moodr. 
Lo Coq was a most desperate character-Hind Petit 
Singe a most consummate viUain, deficient only in 
one thing—courage, but which he generally contrived 
to make up for, by a quickness of invention, which 
rendered him a valuable ally to those who planned 
the commission of any desperate deads. 

On entering they had left the door ijar, for the 
purpose of facilitating their escape, in case they should 
find it expedient to depart in a hurry. I availed my- 
self, therefore, of the opportunity to follow after theia, 
with my men, and perceived them ascending the 
stairs, in company with Antoine Laurent ; this soott 
explained how they had so easily obtained their ad- 
mission. They had no sooner reached the first land- 
ing-place than they heard some one coming down 
stairs ; this seemed to perplex them extremely, and 
Petit Singe, after hiding the light he was carrymg, 
began to descend the stairs, three steps at a time, per- 
haps judging that a general always fights best in the 
rear. The person who had alarmed them was no 
other than Marie, who was coming down stairs with 
a light in her hand. She had no sooner reached the 
landing-place, than Le Coq and Laurent darted for* 
wards and seized her, one by each hand, whilst Le 
Coq pressed* his hand over her mouth to prevent her 
screaming. When she had in'some degree recovered 
from her alarm, Le Coq allowed her to speak. Her 
eye fell upon her husband, and she exclaimed — 

" Oh, Antoine ! how, in the name of heaven, did 
you get here! What is your purpose? And this 
man, too. Oh, let me beseech you to leave the house 
instantly: you will ruin me forever." 

** No ; on the contrary," replied he ; ''I mean ta 
make your fortune." 

** Nay, Antoine, you shall not paM a step ferther; 
pray leave the house; some one may awake, and if 



176 



THE GBNTLBHAN^S MAGAZINE* 



you aro diMOTered, I ahall be acciued of havlog let 
3rou in." 

" I am not quite such a fool, after kiding in the 
log-boiue 'till I am so Bi iff I can hardly move, to walk 
out at a woman's bidding ; let me paas, and don't be 
w abrard." 

*< Not a step." 

** Are you mad f " 

" Mad or not, you shall not pass. If you attempt 
it, 111 alarm the house by ray screams." 

They, however, tried to go on; Laurent telling 
Petit Singe to look to the woman, and if she made 
ihe least noise, to cut the matter as short as possible. 
Marie, faithful to her woid, the moment she saw them 
adTancing, uttered a piercing scream and cry for as- 
liftance, but was effectually silenced by a blow from 
the butt-end of Laurent's pistol. She fell instantly 
on the Btaits, deprived of all motion, and, as I dreaded, 
at the instant, even of life* So thought Petit Singe, 
fyt he declared it would be a good night's work for 
Laurent to make himself a widower and a rich roan 
at the same time. They went on to Monsieur Ge^ 
main's private-room, the situation of which they 
leemed to be well acquainted with, and forced open 
hie escritoire, in which was lying a large quantity of 
Botesb which I afterwards ascertained had been paid 
only a day or two before to Monsieur Germain, for 
an eetate of some value he had disposed o£ These 
Petit Singe lost no time in appropriating to himself, 
aod was about to leave the zoom, when I thooght it 
Hnne to show myselC 

«* The Blessed Virgin !" exclaimed Petit Singe, the 
iBomeat he saw me, at the same time running behind 
hi Coq for protectwn. 

"Not exactiy," I said, " Monsieur Petit Singe, but 
another friend of your's." 

« The devU !" exclaimed Le Coq. 

*' No," said 1. " there again you are mistaken." 

The booty was too rich to be given up without a 



struggle, aod Laurent swore he would blow out Iha 
brains of the first man who attempted to slop himt 
calling on Le Ceq to assist him in making a dash 
for if. 

I attempted to seize him, and he kept his word bf 
firing at me ; the ball went through my hat, and irao- 
tured a large glass which was behind. Be than 
drew a dagger, with which he would have attacked 
me, had he not been at that moment shot by ona of 
my men. Le Coq was soon disarmed, and Petit Suge 
pulled out from under the table, where ha had crept 
the moment he saw Laurent was about to make i«sia> 
tance, and with the politest bow in the world, pn» 
sented me with the money, expressing a hope that I 
did not feel any inconvenience from Laurent'e pn* 
cipitation. 

The firing soon awoke the inmates of the kowe^ 
who were not a little surprised at the scene which 
presented itself; and attention being paid to poor 
Marie, it was found that although she had received 
a severe blow across the fiice, which bad completely 
stunned her, yet there was nothing to fear for bei 
life. 

Some months after this I heard that Marie, who 
had continued to live with Madame Gernuin. liad 
yielded to the solicitatioas of one of her former ad- 
mirers, and again become a wifo. Eiperienca havjag 
taught her that reformation was not so easy a taak aa 
she had imagined, she took the precaution of aaBa»> 
taining that there would be little chance of having to 
try the success of her schemes in the present in«ffiy<|- 

Widi regard to Le Coq aud Petit Singe, they aia 
at present on a visit ta tiie " Bains de Rocbefort." 
which is likely to last until the end of their caxaofi. 
Petit Singe complains most grievously, that at the 
other end of his chain is attached a genUemaa ef 
most powerful make, and withal so arbitrary in bb 
movements, that he cannot eigoy a moment's paaae, 
night or day. J. M.& 



TO A LADY WEEPING THE LOSS OF HER BIRD. 



ir J. a. MIFFLIN, PBILA. 



1 cmi not that I smile no more 

At trifles once awaking mirth. 
That clouds have soAly shaded o'er 

The glare and glory of the earth. 
I envy not thy siWery laugh, 

So clear and musical with joy ; 
Kesign*d no more again to quaff 

The reckless rapture of the boy ! 

Tet would I suffer many an hour 
Of quiet, uncomplaining pain. 

If fiite would but restore the power 
To weep, as I have wept, again— 



To weep as thou art weeping now. 

Ah f never may severer grief. 
With heavier tempests, bend thy brow. 

But ey^ry shower be soft aod brief! 

Such gentle showers as give the huee 
Of freshness to the flowen and grass ; 

To morning mist and evening dews. 
Exhaling fragrance as they pass. 

While some must, like the desert weed 
In clefts of rock, exist in vain*- 

Protected from the storms, iiideed. 

But hid from sunshine and irom taiul 

Digitized byVjQOv IC 



PECULIAR PROPERTIES OF WATER. 



ITT 



A FAMILIAR ESSAY 



PECULIAR PROPERTIE 



O P WAT E R 



" Nature abhon a vaSaum " wu a favorite maxim 
with the achool-men of the middle ages. The truth 
of this aiiertion they did not undertake to prove by 
ugumenta derived from experiment — a meana of ac- 
qoiring kooivledge to them uuknowo, or entirely 
ntglecled. But, folbwiog the path of inveetigation 
pointed out to them in the writings of Ariatotle, be- 
finre the shrine of whose philosophy they bowed wiih 
unmanly and slavish devotion, they attempted to 
establish this, as, indeed, all the other dogmas of the 
age, by means of sophistical reasoning founded upon 
the faint and uncertain light of observation or ex- 
perience. 

''No man has ever detected in nature a space 
devoid of matter ; no man has ever succeeded in ren- 
dering space entirely free from matter ; ergo, no va- 
cnuB exists, or can be created, or, in metaphorical lan- 
guage, * N atnre abhon a vacunm.' " Such, en aMg^, 
was the method of aignmentalion, by which this was 
nodfuvd au eiiai>iished dogittt Of thA iicboou ; and, 
afiar such ample proof, whoever had dared to diepate 
it, wenid have been in great danger, like Roger Ba- 
con, of atoning for his temerity by a long imprison- 
ment, or, like Galileo, of being forced to choose be- 
tween death and recantation. 

In after years, Lord Francis Bacon overthrew the 
dominion which Aristotle had so long maintained 
over the human mind, by the invention of the induc- 
tive method of reasoning-»a mental instrument by 
which man has been enabled to make as important 
discoveries in the universe of mind, as by means of 
the telescope he has made in the material universe. 
Ponuing the method of investigation thus pointed out 
to him, Otto Guericke determined many of the pro- 
perties of the air, and invented the air-pump. The 
nppssed vacuum created by this machine was for 
sumy succeeding ages regarded by men of science 
u an evidence of the absurdity of the old maxim, 
fiat the philosophers of still later times, by studying 
the nature of the imponderable fluids, have satisfied 
tbenselves that a receiver exhausted by an air-pnmp 
ii only deprived of air, and that the space is still 
occupied with the fluids, caloric, light, and electricity. 
Thecefore, till we can in some way remove these 
■ubile entities, we must/for want of means to disprove 
it| revert to the ancient dogma. 

But, whether this maxim, considered in a strictly 
l^iloiophical sense, be true or false, still, in so far as 
it axpiesies the fact that our world and the works of 
Dfttore are framed and adjusted on the strictest prin- 
ciples of economy of apace and material, it is no less 
niAMting than true, and might wdl form the motto 



of the student of Natural Science. Not only is no 
space pertaining to our globe devoid of matter, hot 
no particle of this matter in unnecessary orsuperflooaa. 
Nor in general are the several kinda of substanoea 
destined to serve but one purpose { indeed, in case of 
some bodies, it is hard to enumerate all the offioaa 
they perform— they are so many and various. Fron 
all the stores of nature we cannot, perhapa, seleet a 
more interesting and complete instance of this eoona- 
mical adaptation to many uses than water— a sub- 
stance without which the present constitution of tha 
world could not exist This liquid so peculiar in 
some of its properties and relations, so beautifully 
adapted to the many dutiea it performs, exerting an 
powerful an influence on all the parU of the machinery 
of nature, is not prepared for such various ends bf 
being composed of many and potent materials, but ia 
the result of the combination of two elementaiy 
gnsea. How remarkable, that from auch aivpla 
ornon, ratli varied eOeets should result 

So much have we been struck with the singnhuc 
formation of watef— eo convincing are the pioola of 
design dmwn from the peculiaritiea of its nature and 
constttuiion, that we can think of no mora powerfiil 
argument to suggest to our readers in fiivor of tha 
being of a God, than one founded upon an enumaia^ 
tion of some of the offices which thia material agant 
performs, and an explanatk>n of the peculiar proper- 
ties which fit it so admirably for theee ofltoea. 

The ocean is the great atoie-hoose of thia liqiitf. 
From it the sun, acting, if the expression may be 
allowed, as the agent of the earth, borrows and traaa- 
mits to her the supply she needs. She, after using it 
for her various purposes, honestly returns it by giavi- 
talion to the ocean, adding, as interest for the hmtt, 
such saline and earthly substanoea as the wateia dia- 
solve and cairy with them in their passage thithar. 
The benefit arising from this addition we ahall pre- 
sently consider. Without attempting to apeak of all 
the duties which the liquid performs in the sevaaJ 
states and ailuationa in which it exists during thaaa 
revolutiona, let ns mention but a few of the nwM 
essential, and fortify ourselves agaiaat tha appronohaa 
of infidelity by investigating the singular proviaioaB 
which prepare the Ikiuid for these dutiea. 

The watoTi which in the form of inviaible vapoc 
rises and mixes with the almoapheia, when it beoanaa 
oondewed by the withdrawal of caloric, foils in rain* 
snow, bail, or dew. The fint ofiice which it parfonna 
on reaching the earth is the irrigation of its suifoeOf 
survlyiog the vegetation with the meistove ssssn t iai 
to its exiatanoe. The portion which remain^ flowa 



178 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE* 



off, and is gathered in springs and rivulets, where 
animals obtain it to drink. Thence, collecting into 
rivers, it returns to the sea. But, besides aflbrding 
necessary sustenance to the plants and animals which 
live upon the land, it is so constituted as to become 
itself iLe abode of myriads of living creatures. Not 
on^ are the ocean and other collections of water 
tenanted by animals which are of sufficient size to be 
perceptible to us, but we have ample foundation for 
believing that every drop of water, however situated, 
teems with living atoms, too minute to impress our 
senses, but still possessing each a perfect organization 
designed to fit it for acting its humble part in the 
drama of the universe — each a living evidence of the 
&ct that "Nature abhors a vacuum," that her laws 
and arrangements are such as to leave no space wiih- 
in her realms, which is not the source of life and en- 
joyment to her subjects — no place which does not con- 
tain a witness of the wisdom and goodness of her 
Creator. 

fiat what are the peculiar properties which fit this 
liquid for such a diversity of purposes I Let us select 
for consideration a few of the more singular and es- 
sential. 

To what does water owe its present situation? 
Why, when it enters in so small a proportion into the 
composition of the globe, does it cover, spread out in 
a thin film, to large a portion of its surface? Indeed, 
why does it reach the surface at all — why is it not 
i9Xt»l covered op and lost in the other constituents 
of the earth, since they are ao greatly superior to it in 
quality ? How is it enabled to retain a position so 
singular and, at the same time, so necessary to its 
iiaefulneM? The existence of this whole arrange- 
' ment is due to the fact, that water is so formed as to 
be of less specific gravity than the other materials of 
the globe. Were this provision suddenly reversed, it 
would bring ruin npon the whole order of nature. 
The ocean and inland streams would sink into the 
bowels of the earth. The solid materials constituting 
their beds would rise and fioat upon their surfaces, 
and would immediately conceal them from our view. 
The consequences are too apparent to need a recital. 
" The heavens over our heads would become as brass, 
and the earth beneath our feet as iron." The world 
would soon be but the charnel-house of the myriads 
ef its former tenants. How evident then are the 
marks of design in this beautiful adjustment! 

Another property of water is that oftdution, or the 
power which it has of overcoming the gravity of the 
saline substances with which it comes in contact, and 
of causing them to diffuse themselves equally through 
its whole volume. Were the ocean a body of fresh 
water, with as little motion as it now possesses, it 
would soon become stagnant and putrid, and conse- 
quently could not be inhabited by animals. Its pes- 
tilential exhalations would also destroy the inhabitants 
of the land. Hence the reason why it has been so 
formed as to be enabled to preserve itself pure by 
dissolving the common salt and other saline bodies 
with which it meets. 

This, however, is not the only benefit resulting 
fiom the nature of sea-water. lu fteezing point is 



greatly reduced by the saline solution, and, conse- 
quently, ice is not formed in the ocean, except in 
very high latitudes. Its specific gravity too is in- 
creased, so that is rendered more fit for the purposea 
of navigation. But we will not dwell upon these 
minor advantages. 

We have seen how water is enabled to retain its 
present situation on the surface of the earth { and, 
thus situated, to combine with itself a preservative 
against such changes as would render it a source of 
pestilence and death. Let us now consider the beau- 
tiful provision, by which, while thus stored in the 
ocean, a constant supply is conveyed to the land, to 
perform its several ofiices in the latoratory of nature. 
This conveyance depends upon ita vchHiUty at att 
temperatures and the power which it has of diffusing 
itself through the air. From ihe fact that the liquid 
state is that in which the great mass of the water oq 
the globe always eiists, and in which it generally 
presents itself to our senses, we might be led to con- 
clude that this is its natural state, or, in other words, 
that this is the condition in which it would remain, 
were it leA to itself, without being aflfected by other 
material agents — that evaporation is the consequence 
of external infiuence. But the fact is just the reverse. 
The existence of water on the earth in a liquid form, 
supplied, as it always is, with a greater quantity of 
caloric than is requisite for evaporation, is the result 
of constraint— is proximately owing to the preenre of 
the atmosphere, ultimately to gravitation. Were the 
air iDddenTy to be removed from around the globe, m 
portion of water would immediately spring into vapor, 
and supply its place. This evaporation would soon 
be checked by the pressure of the atmosphere of 
vapor which it would create. If, however, this re- 
moval of the air were the result of the cessation of 
the attraction of gravitation, there would be no such 
check ; all the water on the earth would assume the 
gaseous form. Theee facts are satisfactorily proved 
by means of the air-pump. If there be water in the 
bottom of a receiver, and we attempt to exhaust ft, 
after the air is withdrawn, it will continue to be filled 
with an atmosphere of vapor, and a vacuum will not 
be produced till the whole of the water disappearo. 
This experiment will succeed equally well if a piece 
of ice be used iqstead of water. A vacuum will not 
be obtained till the ice, without passing into the in- 
termediate liquid state, is pumped from the receiver 
in the form of vapor. 

The reason why the weight of the air retains the 
water on the earth's surface, is simply this : that the 
temperature of the water is never so high as to evolve 
steam of suflScient elasticity to overcome this weight, 
since 2i2<' is iui boiling point, or the degree to which 
it mtist be heated, in order to give off vapor of requi- 
site density to rise in opposition to the atmospheric 
pressure. 

Such is the provision by which water is preserved 
in its condensed state, and an unlimited evaporation 
prevented. But then, we might naturally aak,4iow 
does vapor rise at all, since its temperature is never 
sufiiciently high to enable it to overoome the weight 
of the airf Why is not all the water in existence 



PBCULIAR PROPERTIES OF WATER. 



179 



Gompreflied into a liquid ? This difficulty is obviated, 
and the alow and limited evaporation necewary for 
the purpoaes of nature, produced by means of the 
property which vapor has of diffusing itself through 
the air. This arrangement is one of a very singular 
and anomalous nature, and aflbrds a very oonvincing 
evidence of creative design. We have already seen 
that the water on the surface of the globe can never 
evolve vapor of sufficient temperature to enable it lo 
oppose the pressure of the atmosphere ; hence it is 
evident that if it rise at all, it must do so, not by dis- 
placing the air, but by mingling with it in such a way 
as that together they may occupy the same space ae 
the air occupied by itself The manner in which this 
is brought about has never been explained to the 
entire satisfaction of philosophers, though many me- 
thods of accounting for it have been invented, some 
of them possessing much plausibility. We cannot 
then lay before our readers a complete and undisputed 
theory, capable of explaining all the facts in the case, 
nor would such an exposition tend in any great degree 
to increase our admiration of the beauty and efficacy 
of the provision, or to confirm our belief in the exist- 
ence of its Author- If we cannot fully understand 
the philosophy of the arrangement, yet we know very 
well its effect — we have sufficient data to enable us 
to conclude, that, were it to cease to exist, the waters, 
imprisoned in the ocean, would cease their needful 
journeys to the land. 

Some of the properties, by the possession of which 
water is fitted to become the abode of animals, are 
still more interesting than those already mentioned. 
It is a general law in regard to all animals that the 
respiration of air is necessary to their existence i this, 
we might suppose, would render it entirely impossible 
for any class of them to live in water. But the diffi- 
culty is provided for by the constitution of this liquid, 
being such as that it absorbs air, when exposed to the 
pressure of the atmosphere, as it always is when existing 
in the natural state on the earth. The fact that water 
contains air, the absorption of which is due to the 
atmospheric pressure, is proved "by placing some in a 
receiver, and'temoving this pressure by means of an 
air-pump. The air, in this case, will bo seen escaping 
in minute bubbles. 

But there is another still more remarkable pecu- 
liarity which enters into the constitution of water, to 
fit it for the sustaining of life. It is very often the 
case that infideU, when pressed with arguments in 
favor of the truth of reveletion, which are derived 
from the harmony and wonderful adaptation of the 
laws of nature, answer them by asserting, that the 
existence of these laws is the effect of chance, or, 
rather, that they are what might naturally, and, a priori, 
be expected to exist. If, however, we can instance a 
case, in which, in order to the accomplishment of a 
certain design, one of these general laws is infringed, 
in which an exception to an otherwise universal rule 
i> made just where such exception was needed, we 
shall have evidence, which cannot, even in appear- 
ance, be refuted by such frivolous argument, but 
which must carry conviction lo the mind of every 



candid infidel. Just such evidence we have. It is a 
general law that bodies are contracted by cold and 
expanded by heat Were we to quote this law to an 
atheist, as an instance of benevolent design, enume- 
ralirig to him the many advantages which accrue from 
it, he would, perhaps, answer us by asserting that it is 
a law which agrees wiih the general nature of bodies, 
and is a result of their constiluiion. But, if we can 
Ciml an instance of a body, which, were it to obey this 
general law, would not answer the purposes for which 
it was intended, and which, on this account, is so 
framed as to form an exception to it, we should at 
once deprive him of this gratuitous method of arguing. 
Water is such an instance. 

Lot us suppose that this liquid did contract, when 
deprived of caloric, and that a lake, or, indeed, any 
body of it, containing fish, were exposed to a degree 
of cold below the freezing point. The water at the 
surface, as soon as by giving up its heat to the air, to 
which it was exposed, it had become diminished in 
bulk, and, consequently, heavier than that below it, 
would sink, and thus give place to another portion. 
This, in its turn, acquiring density, would sink, and 
thus the v^hole body of water would, by degrees, be- 
come of the same temperature with the atmosphere. 
As this was supposed to be below the freezing point, 
the whole would become a solid mass of ice. Conge- 
lation, which, in the present constitution of things, 
l>egins at the surface, would, in the case we have 
supposed, take place first at the bottom, since ice 
would be of greater specific gravity than water. It 
is easy to see the effect this would have upon the fish. 
The first evil they would have to encounter would 
be the low temperature of the water. If this did not 
destroy them, those species which derive their food 
from the earth, would soon be prevented from reach- 
ing it, since a layer of ice would separate them from 
the bottom. Finally the whole would become a frozen 
moss, the fi^h partaking in the common congelation. 
Were the weather to change, and the air to become 
warmer, the ice would not melt by any means as fast 
as it was formed. There would be no such mingling 
of its particles as there was in this latter operation, 
since, if the portion at the sur&ce became heated, and 
were to melt, it would still remain ai the surface, be- 
cause its gravity would be diminished. The heat 
then must reach the portion below by means of con- 
duction, and, since water is a bad conductor, the de- 
scent of caloric would be very slow. The lower part 
of a body of water, of any considerable depth, thus 
frozen, would remain so throughout the year. 

The depth of the ocean would not prevent it from 
undergoing a like operation. The immense icebergs* 
so numerous in high latitudes, would have been formed 
at the bottom of the sea, instead of floating en its 
surface. Situated as they now are, evaporation keeps 
pace with their formation, and prevents their indefi- 
nite increase in size and number. In the case we 
have supposed, the ice would be shielded from eva- 
poration, and, of course, its increase would be unlimit- 
ed. In course of time,, the whole ocean, in the 
vicinity of the poles, would become an immense frozen 
Digitized by VjOOQIC 



180 



THE GENTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



as firm and solid as the other materials of the 
globe.* 

A consideration of these things cannot bat convince 
the reader of the necessity of the fact, that water 
should form an exception to the general law that 
bodies are increased in volume by the addition of 
caloric, and diminished by its withdrawal. Let us 
examine whether such an exception has been made, 
and, if so, what law has been substituted If we 
take a glass globe, containing a thermometer, and 
with a tube connected with it, and, having filled it to 
to the top of the tube with water, uf which the tem- 
perature is above 40^, if we placo it in a freezing 
atmosphere, as the water cools, it will sink in the 
tube, till the thermometer has fallen to 40^^, where- 
upon it will begin to rise, and will continue to do so, 
till it freezes, at which stage of tho cooling process 
the rapidity of the expansion will suddenly increase, 
and it will burst the- globe. We learn from this, that 
water, at all temperatures above 40°, obe>8 the law 
of expansion common to other bodies — that from this 
degree, as its temperature diminishes, it expands in 
proportion to this diminution, till it reaches the freez- 
ing point, when a sudden expansion accompanies con- 
gelation, and that, consequently, 40° is its point of 
greatest density. 

I^t us see how this provision prevents the disasteis 
of which we spoke — ^how it harmonizes with the ge- 
neral order of nature. Let us suppose, as before, a 
collection of water, tenanted by fish, to be expeeed to 
an atmoephere, of which the temperature is below the 
fieeziog point. The water at the snriace would part 
with caloric, and, contracting, would give place to a 
lighter portion from below, which, in its turn, would 
•ink; till the whole would, afler a time, be reduced 
to the temperature of 40°, which suits very well the 
physical constitution of the fish. Here the vertical 
motion of the water would cease, for that portion 
which was at the surface, when this temperature was 
acquired throughout, would remain there, since a 
iarther withdrawal of caloric would but increase its 
levity. Thus the lower part would be defended from 
the cold by that at the top, for, as we have already 
stated, this liquid is a bad conductor of heaL The 

* We know not how far this might be prevented 
by the central heat of the earth, which, as is well 
known, inoreasas with the dietanoe fiom the surface. 



cooling process continuing, a coat of ice would form 
on the surface, which would be a still better defence 
for the under portion, since water, in its solid state, is 
a much worse conductor than when a liquid. On the 
arrival of warm weather, the ice would immediately 
melt, and the water, by the procets of mingling before 
described, would return en masse to the temperature 
of 40°. Above this degree the general body would 
be protected from rapid accessions of caloric, from the 
fact, that the upper portion would alone be exposed 
to such accefision, except by the slow method of con- 
duction. Thus, by this beautiful adjustment, the fish 
are defended from both exiremee — their native element 
is 60 framed as to yield but very slowly to the influ- 
ence of an external temperature, which is below, or 
above the healthful medium, and rapidly to return to 
this medium, when such influence is withdrawn. An 
examination of this single provision is enough to con- 
vince the devotee at the ehrine of chance, of the folly 
of his creed. We could not, perhaps, in the whole 
field of science, obtain a more firm and simple basis 
on which to rest an argument, in proof of the exiit- 
ence of the Deity. 

Thus we have selected a few of the more important 
properties of this wonderful liquid, that, by a conside- 
ration of their design and effect, we might awaken 
the reader's curiosity, and induce him to direct his 
attention to a more complete investigation of the sub- 
ject than our limits will permit us to undertake — that 
he may satisfy himself, that wbttt we have been treat- 
ing is not a rude and unorganized substance, the 
elements of which might have been thrown together 
by the blind operation of accident, but that it is highly 
finished and beautifully framed — the evident result of 
Creative Intelligence. Whether existing in freshnea 
and purity in the spring which bursts from the moon* 
tain side, or in the river, which wends its way to the 
sea — whether buried in the briny depths of the ocean, 
or rising unseen from the surface to mingle with the 
clouds— whether falling in rain to refresh the earth, 
or in snow to shield the vegetation from the cold — in 
whatever part of the vast laborator||pf nature it is 
engaged, it declares, in language which cannot be 
misunderstood. 



" The hand that made me is divine." 

W. 

Princeton, N. J. 



B. B. 



SONNET TO GENIUS. 



■ Y ftOBXRT MILLH0U8S, NOTTINGHAM, KNGLANO. 



O, bom of heaven, thou child of magic song! 

What pangs, what cutting hardships wait on thee, 

When thou art doomed to cramping poverty ! 
The poiflonoDs shafts from defamation's tongue— 
The jeers and taantings of the blockhead throng. 

Who joy to see thy bold exertions fail ; 

While hunger, pinching as December's gale. 



Brings moody dark despondency along. 

And, shooldst thou strive fame's lofly mount to scale, 
The steps of its ascent are cut in sand ; 
And half-way up, a snake scourge in her hand, 

Lurks pallid envy, ready to assail: 
And last, if thou the top, expiring, gain, f ^ 

When fame applauds, thou heareat not the itnun: 



MAD ACTOR S< 



181 



PLAY-HOUSE PEOPLE- 



BT THX AUTHOR OF * * k tf ACTOE'fl ALLOQUT. 



The stage and aeton are not to oontemptiliiei 
As erery innovating Puritan. 
And irnorant iwearer, out of jealous enty, 
WouM kave tl&e world imacine. 

C. CnapmanU " Rev€ngt?*^Ul3, 



No. II. 



MAD ACTORS. 



MISS MACAULET. 

AMID8T the vaat tribe of eccentric geniuiea who 
have stratted their time upon the English or Ameri- 
can stagce, this lady deserves a conspicuous, if not 
Um Ibremoit place. The dramatic annals afibrd no 
parallel case of such continuous inconsistency and 
fixed variation of purpose as marks her progress, 
either provincial or metropolitan. We can number a 
tolerable catalogue of actors wonderful in their pro- 
ftflsional or personal vanity, and disgusting in the dis- 
play of their own opinions of this supposed excellence; 
bat we never met with any one who so pertinacious- 
ly crammed such opinions down the throats of mana- 
gen and the much-abused public, as the subject of 
our praeont remarks. We believe that the children 
of Theepis have more right to be termed the tribe 
"irritable" than the sons of Apollo, and Miss Macau- 
ley, having claims upon both families, seems to have 
concentred within herself the bile and venom of the 
unsuecesaful of the two progenies. She received more 
than her share of*' chances" in the theatrical world, 
and iailed in them all— not so much from positive 
want of talent as from a constitutional pettishness 
and overruling vanity which prompted her to grumble 
at the proeeediogs of her friends, and to nullify the 
eflbrta of the managers, who might otherwise have 
found it to their interests to push her into popularity. 

Miss Macauley was bom in the old city of York, 
England, somewhere about fifty years ago. She im- 
bibed the dramatic fervor at an early age, and before 
she had attained her fourteenth year, made her ap 
pearance on the boards of the York theatre in the 
character of Sylvia, in the musical entertainment of 
Cymon. She then migrated to the other side of the 
island, and played at the Famharo, Gosport, and Arun- 
del theatres, under the management of Bonnel Thorn- 
ton, almost as great an eccentric as herself. Conceiv- 
ing that she poasessed splendid talents for singing, she 
went to London, and placed herself under the musical 
direction of the celebrated Corri ; but her vagrant 
piopenaitiea returned, and she wandered into Ireland, 
and made hoiaelf popular at the DubKn and Belfast 
theatraa. Miaa Walstein, a London actresa of great 
ttpute, vnm aogaged to "star" at Bel&it, and serioos- 1 
»3 - 1 



ly outraged Miss Macauley's notion of dignity ; sho 
conceived her fame attacked, and in a fit of pride, 
threw up her engagement The father of the trage- 
dian Macready was proprietor of the Bristol theatra; 
he gave Miss Macauley a situation, which, strange to 
say, she held for four years ; it is true, that she waa 
allowed to play every good part that she fancied, and 
had her own way in the direction of business, but 
even that was not soflScient to keep her quiet in othec 
places. While at Newcastle, she published a volume 
of poems called " Efllusions of Fancy," in the preface 
to which she pathetically describes the fiite of a tra- 
gedy which she had written ; and in passing to and firom 
London, had travelled upwards of six hundred milee 
to present it to the managers of the theatres; but, af- 
ter being ** tossed on the billows of disappointment fbi 
a length of time, her every hope was lost But there 
was little doubt but that her poems would perpetuate 
her name, and that the dew drops of sympathy vrould 
fall when she would be no more." But the criticisms 
of the press sentenced Miss Macauley's " Effusiona of 
Fancy" to merited perdition. 

From Newcastle, she journeyed to ScarboroDgh« 
and then to Southampton, and then to Dublin, where 
she produced an unsuccessful melo-drama, calledl 
" Marmion," the failure of which she kindly attribu- 
ted to the apathy of the actors. The presence of Miai 
Walslein again drove her from the stage ; and she 
produced a monopolologue, consisting of tales, songtf, 
etc., mostly written by herself, and delivered by bee 
in any convenient concert or ball room, under the ti- 
tle of" Miss Macauley *8 Regalio, or Literary Amuse- 
ments." This bold and unlady-like attempt proved 
profitless, and she accepted an engagement with Har- 
ry Johnston, at an opposition theatre in Ryder streef, 
Dublin. Having written an opora, she lefl the stage 
again, and, nothing daunted by her former failure, she 
went to London for the purpose of getting her piece 
performed, but again her efforts were without suc- 
cess. She was now well known in every professional 
circle, and much dreaded, from the fury of her tongue 
and her well practised powers of mischief making. 
About this time, she conceived a violent passion fi>c 
the celebrated tragedian, George Frederick Cookef 
and publicly declared|^t^ s|ig meant to many hba, 



182 



THE GBNTLKHAN'S MAGAZINE. 



and was to be deterred from her purpose by death 
ftlone. That he was the most talented male creature 
living ; and ai she was the most gifted living daughter 
of Eve, it became an imperious duty that they shoutd 
be joined together in bauds of holy love, gracefully 
secured with the marriage chain. She averred that 
neither of them could possibly find an equal elsewhere, 
and being thus necessitated to marry or live single, it 
was an act imposed upon them by fate. But when 
they considered the wonderfully talented progeny 
that must spring from such a glorious union, they 
were unworthy the name of social beings, did they 
withhold such blessings from posterity. In further* 
ance of her plans, she invited George to her house, 
and mixing up modicums of love with mutchkins of 
whiskey, continued to detain him for an hour or two. 
He never understood her hints on matrimony, and 
turned a deaf ear to her decree of fate. The reader 
must understand that Miss Macauley never could 
pretend to even a moderate share of good looks. One 
evening, when George had discussed the merits of 
many a mntchkin, a reverend gentleman was intro- 
duced from a neighboring apartment. George smoked 
the bttiineM of the *' gentleman in black,'* and left 
the damsel and the divine to finish the whiskey, 
" D— — him or her," said George, ** who would plan 
mischief over the bottle! If she^ could have made me 
insensibly drunk, I should have been put to bed, and 
in the morning she v^uld have told me that I was 
her lawful husband. What an eecape I have had from 
the subtle gorgon!" 

Finding that it was impoaible to obtain the repre- 
sentation of either opera or tragedy, she returned the 
MS8. to her trunk, and played a very short engage- 
ment at the Haymarket theatre in London. Then she 
went to Southampton, and then to Edinborough, un- 
der Mr. H. Siddona ; but her stay there was extreme- 
ly short, fi>r with that singular inconstancy of mind 
peculiar to her eharacter, she hastened to Newcastle, 
and commenced giving instructions in music This, 
as might be expected, proved a total failure, and sho 
was reduced to considerable straights. Mt. Thomp- 
son, a provincial low comedian, supplied her with 
money for several months, and prevented her positive 
starvation. 

Mrs. Jordan, with that amiable exercise of charily 
ibr whieh this much-abused and ill-used woman was 
distinguished, interfered in behalf of Miss Macauley, 
and recommended her to the notice of the Drury Lane 
manager, but all negociations were broken oflf, from 
the insupportable arrogance and unbounded preten- 
sions of the woman, who was absolutely without a 
shilling of her own. Elliston kindly gave her an en- 
gagement at the Birmingham theatre, which ehe 
quitted to perform sacred music at ShefiHeld. 

Her entertainment, " The Regalio," was now re- 
vived ; and in 1818, she travelled through various 
parU of the British dominions, giving her perform- 
ance, and announcing that the profits were to be be- 
stowed upon the orphan daughters of naval and mili- 
tary ofiicers. But, Uke the Wandering Piper, her ex- 
penses were so heavy, and the receipts so light, that 
but Uttle overplus ever fouad its way into the pockets 



of the poor. In this year, she published ** An Add rev 
to the Public,'* in behalf of the same orphans, wherein- 
she touched largely upon the sin of seduction, on^ of" 
fered some methods to prevent it! 

Repeated applications to the Drury Lane managers 
eventually resulted in an engagement She was sum- 
moned to rehearee Constance, in Sfaal^peare's play of 
Ring John — Kean playing the hero. But Mr. Keao, 
in her opinion, was not a man of talent, and it was 
impossible for her, an embodiment of genius, to eo- 
operate with a fellow whom she had known as an 
obscure actor in a provincial theatre. She was vul- 
garly rude to the great little man, who politely en- 
dured her insolence, and humored her egregious 
vanity. She appeared, and although not hissed, barely 
escaped condemnation. Each succeeding performance 
brought forth fresh insolence from her, till Kean, justly 
incensed, refused to play with her. She was tried in one 
or two other parts, but her success at least was doubtful ; 
and at the termination of her engagement, the mana- 
gers refused to renew it. 

Delighting in excitement, she addressed violeBt 
letters to the London editors, containing fierce attacks 
upon Kean ; which, very wisely, he refused to notice. 
Failing in her attempt to provoke the town against 
ils favorite, she opened her ** Regalio" at the Grown 
and Anchor Tavern, but without success. Mr. Buck* 
a noisy, empty headed author, conceiving hisuelf 
injured by Mr. Kean, who had refused to play in his 
tragedy of" The Italians," printed it, with a furious ti- 
rade in the preface, which, being violent and vulgar, 
attracted public attention. Miss Macauley, glad of an 
excuse to "feed fat her ancient grudge," publicly 
read the play of "The Italians** during her entertain- 
ment, with remarks upon the beauties of the author, 
and the villany of the actor. Shortly afterwards, she 
published an attack upon managers in the shape of a 
pamphlet, called " Theatrical Revolutions,'* but it fall 
still-born from the press. 

Determined not to be daunted, she personally wai^ 
ed on various of the nobility, and solicited their patren- 
age to her " Regalio," which she gave several times 
in the Concert Rsom at the King's Theatre, pre&ciag 
her motley performance by a rude attaok upon tke 
Sub-Committee of Drury Lane, and the arch ofifender 
Kean. This speculation was the worst of all the bad ; 
she was compelled to move her »* traps" to Shade'a 
Concert Room, Soho Square, where ill-luck still pur- 
sued her. The Covent Garden managers were in 
want of a heroine, and offered her terms for a few 
nights; she opened there in December, 1819, in a 
new play called "Mary Stuart,*' the same piece 
which Mr. Tcrnan had lately the impudence to assert 
was written expressly for his wife. Miss Fanny Jar^ 
man. Miss Macauley was a poor representative of 
the lovely queen of Scots, and notwithstanding her 
sanguine prognostications of wonderful success, the 
whole aflair terminated in inglorious failure. She 
appeared one niglit more, at her own desire, in Jane 
Shore, but experienced a similar result. The maaa- 
geis were willing to pay her during the rest of her 
engagement, although they resolved not to allow her 
again to appear before the public upon their stage \ 



Digitized by VjOOQiC 



MAD ACTORS, 



183 



bat she claimed the fulfiiment of h«i bond, ridiculed 
the charge of failure, and declared that with fair play, 
she could lave the theatre from its otherwise iDCV lia- 
ble ruin. Fawcett, as stage manager, was commis- 
lioned to give her two hundred pounds, and send her 
off She astonished the veteran by declaring in an 
exalted tone of voice that he had ruined her — hnd 
ttken a base advantage of her — and had mortally 
stabbed her reputation. The old man was alarmed, 
and demanded an explanation. **You have placed 
my name, sir, in letters smaller than Miss O'Noil, 
(Lben in her zenith,) which is a virtual acknowledge- 
ment of her 8uperiority-*a thing 1 never shall agree to." 
She drove him from the apartment in the midst of 
horrid threats of public and private vengeance. 

It is almost impossible to give an overcharged idea 
of the self conceit indulged in by Miss Macauley, 
upon all occasions. After her failures at the two 
patent theatres, Drury Lane and Covent Garden, she 
• viiiied several provincial establishments and played 
ihort and profitless engagements at some of the minor 
London theatres. At Bath, she evinced a specimen 
of selfestimation somewhat similar to the conceit of 
John Dennis, the acute but growling critic, who hav- 
iDg written against the king of France, was horribly 
agitated at the proposal of a treaty of peace lest the 
French monarch should, in one of the articles, enforce 
the delivery of the terrified author to the pains and 
penalties of Gallic justice. On the first night of Miss 
Macauley's engagement at Bath, she seized hold of 
Charlton, the gentlemanly manager, and with evident 
perturbation, ezclaimed, totte voce, " Good God ! why 
am I made the vlctimof such unheard -of persecution? 
do you see that stout man in the front row of the pit f 
observe with what intense anxiety he follows me 
with his eyes! I mean that man with the red nose, 
I large cheeks, and immense corporation. That is cap- 
tain Ford, In disguise. He has followed me post from 
London, at the desire of the whole of the female part 
of my profession, with the express intention of hooting 
me fiom the stage! Gracious heavens! to what 
lengths will the indulgence of vanity and envy drive 
poor human nature.'* *' Poor mad thing !" said Charl- 
ton, to the coterie in the green room, " I could not 
talk to her on the stage, but I knew very well that 
her fancied persecutor w*as no other than quiet old 
Jenkins, the tallow chandler." 

Her vagaries at this time became more frequent 
wdmore preposterous. She quarrelled with every 
n&nager, and insulted every actor with whom she 
came in contact. It was impossible to please her. 
One night she would play Desdemona, and when the 
piece was announced for repetition, demand the part 
of Emilia — ^particularly if the lady who performed 
tbat character had made any impression upon the 
pablic Nor were her varmtions confined to the op- 
poaite tragedy parts ; she has been known to desire 
^e repetition of the Foundling of the Forest, wherein 
ike played Eugenia, for the sake of eclipsing Mrs. 
Ahop, who had delighted the audience by her ezces- 
•ive sprightliness in the character of the waituig 
^nanRosabelle. One night, during the performance 
of Pizarro, she took offence at the dress of the lady 



representing Cora, and selecting the same play for her 
benefit night, announced herself for that part, resign- 
ing her proper character of Elvira to a stock actrev 
of inferior grade. '*Now/' said Miss Macauley, 
strutting into the green room, " behold the correct 
mode of dressing the South American Indian !" A 
small white muslin robe exquisitely frilled and flower- 
ed, was thrown negligently over one shoulder, ex 
posing the whole of one side of her bosom and back; 
her petticoat was looped Diana faehion, more than 
half way up her thigh, which, with her legs, foet, 
hands and arms, were entirely bare, save the coloring 
necessary, in her imagination, for the skin of the In- 
dian maid. RemonstrHnce was useless; she would 
appear in the dress, and consequently drove away the 
few respectable people whom her announcements hod 
induced to enter the theatre. She meant no immodes- 
ty in this proceeding; her excessive vanity induced 
her to believe that her example was suflScient to 
stamp correctness upon any proceeding, however outri 
or repulsive. 

Having quarrelled with every manager in the king- 
dom, she was compelled in her own defence to turn 
manager herself, or give up the practice of her pro-- 
fession. Mr. Wilson, proprietor of the European 
Museum, King street. Si. James's, was persuaded by 
Miss Macauley to fit up a theatre on his premises, 
and place it at her sole control. During the comple- 
tion of the fittings, her whims were of the most aggra- 
vating kind ; the paint, paper hangings, curtains, etc 
were several times changed, aAer the arrangements 
had been deemed complete ; and the orders given to 
the workmen to day were certain to be contradicted 
to-morrow, with an excess of temper that rendered 
their execution a work of peculiar aggravation. At 
last, the fanciful lady sonsented to be satisfied ; a new 
edition of '* The Regalio" was announced, and after a 
few nights, failed even to pay the expense of the 
lights. Applications were made to the nobility, offer- 
ing the use of this elegant little theatre for amateur 
performances. The scheme promised success; but 
Miss Macauley was not to be driven from her tenure 
—she insulted the ladies by her contemptuous de- 
meanor, sneered at the lordlings, broke up the party, 
and compelled her friend and patron Wilson to take 
the benefit of the insolvent act, and sell off his estate 
by public auction, to pay the law expenses. 

The Argyll Rooms, in Regent street, gave the next 
token of her '* whereabout ;" in addition to her usual 
allowance of serious and comic songs and speeches, 
she gave " Dramatic Illustrations of the Passions," and 
very curious specimens of positive madness were the 
passionate illustrations, which, when they failed to 
frighten the timid portions of the few adventurers in 
front, served as food for immoderate laughter. I have 
heard her recite with appropriate action, Belvidera's 
mad scene, wherein she would dash herself down 
upon the six feet square stage erected at one end of 
the room, and with frantic yells, tear at the boerdr 
with her distended fingers, as if digging up her Jafifor 
from the grave. In five minutes, she has appeared 
again, in a short round frock, or countryman's Utnaer 
red wig, and squab hat, singing t conic fol-de-rol sod 



164 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE* 



of song in true Yorkshire dialect. Again, she would 
appear in her own proper apparel, with a blue-riband- 
ad guitar flung round her neek, warbling a Spanish 
serenade most pathetically. " Hie et ubigue" seemed 
her chosen motto. Von met with her at Birmingham 
and Brighton, and saw her bills as you passed through 
tlM metropolis on your way. She was to be heard of 
in Edinborough, and seen in Dublin*- the same paper 
contained her adTertisements of the *'Regalio*' at 
Fraemason's Hall, and a Lecture at some Mechanics' 
Institution. She has been before the public in every 
passible way. She has publicly preached the gospel 
at a small chapel in the neighborhood of Leicester 
Square, and exhibited herself in conjunction with those 
infidel scoundrels, Carlisle and Wright, " the Devil's 
Chaplain," at their Sabbath desecrations in Blackfriars' 
road. She has played at every theatre in London, 
and held her " gallimauflries" in each of the countless 
aonoert rooms in the metropolis and its boundless en- 
irons. 

In 1825, she published a volume of tales paraphrae- 
ing the plots of various of Shakspeare's plays — ^it is 
well done, but inferior to Lamb's work on the same 
subject. In 1833, when the many horriblo murders 
(for the sake of selling the bodies to the surgeons,) 
were committed by the miscreants Burke and Bishftp, 
Miss Macauley published a long " Letter to the Lord 
Chancellor of England upon the subject of Burking," 
as the crime was denominated in the slang of tho day. 
No other female but Miss Macauley would have dared 
to meddle with so revolting a subject. 

Miss Macauley 's inordinate self-esteem caused her 
many a sleepless night and restless day. She was 
eternally repining at the success of her compeers, and 
maligning their fair names. Popularity ever pays a 
heavy tax in being compelled to endure the never- 
ceasing sneers of the ignorant and envious laborers in 
the same line ; but Miss Macauloy concentrated with- 
in herself malignity sufficient for six second-rate ac- 
ton of ordinary jealousy, and conceit cnougli for a 
dozen popular and pretty young actresses spoiled by 
flattery and flirtation. Miss Macauley once received 
a letter from an agent, offering a situation ef some va- 
lue at a minor theatre in London ; she went to him 
in a towering passion, and threatened to horsewhip 
him for insulting her with an offer ** so derogatory to 
her talent and her con«!pqnon''o." A few monllis af- 
terwards she went to the same theatre for one-half 
the money that had been previously olTcred her. 
Sometimes she would assume the airs of the inspired 
poetess; and once when a manager called on her 
about an engagement, she strolled into the room, clad 
in a negligent dishabille, with her hair loose about 
ker neck, one stocking off, and a mysterious roll of 
paper in one hand, while the other grasped a gray 
goose quill, which she played distractedly over her 
fiice as she walked up and down the room ; at last, 
the bright idea was clothed — the words were framed, 
and calling loudly for the ink, she ran eut of the room 
without noticing the person she had travelled many 
waary miles to meet. 

She was onee invited by lady Griesby to Uonke be- 
fan a large party of fashionables ; she did so, and 



standing up at one and of the room, recited a very, 
very long poem of her own composition, on the death 
of Mary, queen of Soots. She then sat down to the 
piano forte, and accompanied herself in several of her 
laughable songs ; after which, she horrifiedher hostets 
and her hearers by madly preaching the most ultra- 
fonatic denunciations in the cant and slang of the 
conventicle — not content with uttering her own wild 
imaginings, in reprehending their way of life, she bor- 
rowed the established forms of the most celebrated 
brimstone dealers, and, with frightful energy, con- 
signed the whole of her unwilling congregation to the 
depths of the bottomless pit. 

Miss Macauley could not be reckoned a handsome 
woman, and, during the main portion of her notoriety, 
was certainly not very young ; yet she deemed her- 
self a personification of Hebe and Venus, and spoke 
coDtidently of her wedded destiny, and the comforts 
of her expected domesticity, although it is not knoiwn 
that she ever received a serious ofier of matrimony. 
A hoax was once played off upon her, certainly not 
of a justifiable nature, although her egregious vanity 
caused every member of the theatre to enjoy its pro- 
gress. A letter was sent to her, written, in fact, by a 
well-known trageJian, but purporting to be the haodi- 
work of a gentleman of independent fortune, full ef 
strange vows ond solemn protestations of burning love, 
and requiring the fair object of his thoughts, if disen- 
gaged in heart ond hand, to wear a fillet w wreath 
oC white roses in her hair during the performances 
of the ensuing night. The letter was received ; but, 
unluckily for the joke's health, Miss Macauley had to 
perform Floranthe in The Mauntaineerg, " a breeches 
part," as it is technically termed^-that is, the performer 
has to assume the male attire. This, it was imagined, 
would effectually exclude the appearance of the 
wreath of roses. The play commenced ; Floranthe 
appeared in the usual djab slouch hat and feathers, 
and the hearts of the jokers desponded. The play 
progressed ; Floranthe uncovered her head to permit 
tho recognition of her lover Octavian, when, lo ! you 
now, the wreath of roses was seen encircling her 
head, to the delight of the initiate few. After the foil 
of the curtain, the author of the letter, who, by the 
way, played Octavian, said to his victim, " Miss Ma- 
cauley, we have made quite a hit to-night— did you 
see that handsome young man start up with delight 
when you pulled off your hat in the rec<^gnition scene? 
I never saw any one so delighted." *' Ah .' show him 
to mo, I beg." The hole in the green curtain was in 
requisition, but the handsome young man was net 
visible — he had doubtless left the theatre. 

Another letter was sent to the unsuspecting lady, 
thanking her for her kindness and condescension in 
attending to the wishes of a stronger, who had too 
great a sense of his own unworthiness to presume to 
solicit an interview, without the permission of the 
idol of his soul; and requesting her, if the letters 
were acceptable, to wear a pink feather, etc." The 
joke was again successful. Another letter, requesting 
permission to wait upon her, to be accorded by oany- 
ing a nosegay in her delicate fingers. A bouquet of 
larger proportions than usual accompanied the letter. 



THE PREVALENCE OP LVXVRY. 



165 



end, in the eTening, BWin walked about the camp 
before Quito, with a bouncing iKMegay of Engliih 
llowen. Several letten, all without tignatare or 
address, were sent at various times, requesting her to 
wear diflbrent colored dresses on diflerent occasions i 
the requests were uniibrmly complied with, to the 
great delight of the hoaiers, who thus improperiy 
played with the feelings of an unsuspecting female. 
Her vanity induced her to insist upon the reality, and 
she fiequenily hinted at the probability of an imme- 
diate change in her condition. The plotters appointed 
teveral interviews, and sent as many apologies. The 
tragedian again noticed the agitation of the handsome 
yonng man in the boxes ; and, once, actually pointed 
out an unconscious visiter, in a side box, as the gen- 
tleman who uniformly applauded Miss Macauley,with 
each pasaionate vehemence. At last, in a letter 
breathing sad despair and instant suicide, the anony- 
mous lover accused her of entertaining a passion for 
the tragedian — ^requiring her to wear real armor, on 
her next appearance, if the charge wore false. This 
prepoaterous scheme was resorted to, in hopes that its 
extravagance would break off the affair; but the infa- 
tuated woman, determining to keep faith with her 
attached unknown, refased to play Mrs. Beverly on 
the ensuing evening, affecting to be seriously ill. Her 
eccentricity could not shadow forth an excuse for 
dreasing the modest and suffering wife in real armor; 
but, on the next evening, to the horror of the jokers, 
she came down from her room, drest for the Queen in 



Hamlet, wUk a htighl Ueel hrttut fiate and a goldm 
eatque. The manager*s remonstrances were treated 
with rude indignation ; he was in the secret of tlm 
plot, and, hurt by the tenor of her remarks, betrayed 
his knowledge of the iact She refused to play again 
upon the boards of his stage-^butused, whenever she 
reverted to the circumstance, to ridicide the idea of 
the fictiiknisness of the epistles. She knew them to 
be genuine ; but the manager, who had been oj^Ued 
to by her unknown lover, did not wish her to marry, 
and refused to allow her to appear in the dress re- 
quested by her incog, inamomto; the dear youth, 
imagining that she acknowledged the truth of his sus- 
picions, refused to write again, and thus, by the envy 
of the profession, she had lost an excellent establish- 
ment and a devoted friend. She evermore hated the 
manager and the tragedian, with a ooneentration of 
malignity known only to the frequenters of the green 
room. 

Miss Macauley's abilities however varied, were not 
above mediocrity in any thing that she attempted. 
Her tragedy was formal, antiquated, and coldly correct 
in its general tone; occasionally bombastic in the 
passionate portions, and peevish and whining in the 
expression of intense wo. In comedy, she had a strong 
touch of the Borachio, and was otherwise unpleasant. 
Her singing was barely tolerable. Her industry and 
perseveranco were illimitable. She died in England 
about two years ago. 

W. E. R 



THE PREVALENCE OF LUXURY 



BY A rHILADBLPHXAN. 



It 10 admitted by every individual that judging by 
the past, is the only method of foreseeing the events of 
time emd partially removing the mist which pends 
between the present and the future. In the history 
and records of former ages and countries, we may 
read, though indistinctly, the destinies of the govern- 
■lentB of the present time. We can see the rise and 
advance of a nation, trace the sunny path of her exis- 
tence, descry the appearance and progress of a fatal 
enemy to her endurance, and finally discover the im- 
mediate causes of her dissolution — ^the rock on which 
she split We there may contemplate one people 
steadfostly pursuing a high career of glory and renown. 
We may behold her sons eager to pluck a leaf from 
the wreath of knowledge, and aspiring to thread the 
intricate mazes of science ; diffusing the genial rays 
of literature throughout the unenlightened world, 
elevating man from the low situation he occupies, to 
a sphere for which he WM intended by hii Creator; 



bursting the thralls of ignorance by which mankind 
have long been bound ; and, as it were, infusing anew 
the breath of life and liberty into those who have 
borne the burden of a moral and political bondage. 

Of such a government wo have the highest hopes. 
We, in imagination, can trace her prosperous path 
down the vista of succeeding generations, and predict 
for her an existence lasting as time, and bright as the 
beams on the chaplet of innocence. 

Too soon, alas ! are our fair visions of prosperity 
darkened by observing the rise and influence of an 
insidious foe to her happiness. The people feel se- 
cure from the aggression of a foreign force, nor per 
ceive the existence of an internal canker which, 
though slowly, surely extends its pernicious influences, 
and widens its sphere of action till the whole com- 
munity are impregnated with its effects. The as- 
surance of security induces the populace to relax 
theij efforts for the gi^toji^ce of the naUonal cha- 



186 



THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



racter, and they begin to indulge in luxury and inac- 
tivity. The punuiti of iaduBtry, onco inviting and 
pleasant, become irksome, and are laid aside for the 
gratification of effeminate and unhallowed desires. 
The cheerful routine of bosiness is displaced by 
habits of powerless indolence. The effusions of ge- 
nius, which late wero wont to recreate the mind when 
loaded with the cares of life, now seldom appear, and 
when they do, they seem to carry, in their very as- 
pect, the taint of luxurious inactivity. The halls of 
science have become the hannts of voluptuousness, 
and the spirits of literature and poesy have left the 
scene of former culture, and their shrines are deserted. 
The neglect of moral aild literary advancement begets 
indolence with respect to the aflairs of stale. Care* 
less and supine the people leave their social compacts 
and political institutions exposed to the innovations of 
aspiring and unprincipled demagogues, who mould 
the operations of government at their own pleasure. 
The picture of a nation's degradation is soon com- 
pleted. Fallen from her late high and exalted cha- 
racter, she has reached her destination, and has be- 
come the passive tool of usurpation «nd oppres- 
sion. 

Where now are her sages, her heroes, and her 
patriot sons, who were wont, from their knowledge 
and prudence, their valor and their ardent attachment 
to their country and her institutions, to command from 
an admiring world esteem and respect? Impudent 
conceit now supplies the place of wisdom ; the hero 
of the tented field has become the puppet of the 
drawing-toom, and patriotism'^s degenerated into ser- 
vile flattery and degraded sycophancy. 

Is this the chimera of a disordered imagination f 
Are these the wanderings of a wild and irregular 
fancy 7 Go seek an answer in the ruins of Greece 
and Rome, and in the remnants of other popular sys- 
tems, which flourished once, but now are not. Let 
the remains of their stalely and gorgeous palaces and 
amphitheatres; their arenas in which was witnessed 
with a refinement of cruelty, the destruction of human 
life i let the splendid walks and anointed baths, stilt 
magnificent in ruins — give the response. The luxury 
and degeneracy of the people hastened the downfall 
of thee e illustrious republics, and they are now known 
only in the story of their ancient grandeur and present 
degradation. Their columns and statues, their altars 
and temples, time-honored and mouldering, remain as 
moumfiil mementoes of their former greatness. The 
examples here introduced may be too familiar to the 
minds of many, to enable them to appreciate their 
force ; but did occasion seem to demand, we could 
recount the similar stoiy of other renowned dynasties, 
whose existence, although not so brilliant, was disas- 
trously terminated by the operations and influence of 
a spirit of luxurious indolence. We trust, however, 



that the instances above cited may serve as warning 
to those who feel Interested in the purity and perma- 
nency of the Institutions, social and political, of our 
country. And as we recur to the recollection of tha 
pristine dignity and renown of those iDustrioua 
governments which time has nearly effaced, and re- 
call the memory of the magnanimous and chivalrous 
spirits of those departed heroes and sages, who still 
live in the remembrance of every generous and sym- 
pathizing modern, and as we transport our imagina^ 
lions to those periods when they shone as bright stars 
in the firmament of glory, casting a brilliant and in- 
spiring influence around, animating their countrymen 
to deeds of noble daring and irreproachable fam»— 
and then turn again to the present existence of their 
sons, we should ask, why so great a change ? We 
had thought that Rome, the mistress of the world, 
might have withstood the ravages of a thousand oeo- 
turies and still occupy that same distinguished and 
illustrious station. Carthage and Greece, too, why 
have they perished ? While their sons were untaint- 
ed with any of that supineness and luxury, which, 
when Indulged in, enervate the body, paralyze all its 
faculties and blunt and extinguish the noble feelings 
of the soul, they were secure. But when a spirit of 
luxurious indolence began to pervade the minds of 
men and cause them to sigh for the flattering but d» 
ceiiful pleasures of wealth and dissipation, neglect of 
civil, moral and political advancement was engender- 
ed, and the welfare of the public institutions vras 
disregarded. In a little while men of all degrees, 
from the peasant who late pursued his occupetion 
with cheerfulness, to the great ones whose duty it was 
to guard and guide the destinies of the people, fell 
under the dominion of this ensnarer ; and unable t» 
derive nourishment and support from the degraded 
slaves of indolence and ruin, the tender institutions of 
freedom received a shock from which they could not 
recover, and fell from the proud eminence which they 
had attained, dragging with them all the glory, honor, 
and almost existence of the people. Is this fancy, or 
i t fact 7 The history of the world in all ages, confirns 
the statement, and .even now the spirits of calm 
friendship, pure and ardent affection, ennobling science, 
refining literature, disinterested patriotism and holy 
religion point to the wounds they received from the 
same hand which drew the life blood of liberty — ^and 
bid us preserve ourselves from the innovations of 
this insin Mating destroyer; and exhort us to be vigi- 
lant in avoiding its fostering, lest it should spread ita 
blasting influence over this fair land and precipitate 
our liberties into an untimely grave, to swell the 
catalogue of examples of man's incapability to govern 
himself; and succeeding generations regard the rela- 
tion of our name and actions as a legend of tradition. 
Philadelphia. ESSEX;. 



Digitized by 



Google 



ZEPHANIAH DOOLITTLB. 



187 



ZEPHANIAH DOOLITTLE 

A POEM. 

From the Manuscripts of Montmorency Sneerlip Snags, Esq. 

BDITED BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. 



Though roy rhyme be lagged, 
lettered and ragged, 
Rudely rain beaten. 
Hasty moth-eaten ;— 
If ye taike well therewitbe. 
Ye will find in it some pith. 

SkeitonU C^lyn Clout, 



CThe nid Poem containeth the Adventure* of the Hero preidow to hi* intended essay at Pntching ; his noe with Bumble'^ 
tall : the bfttUe consequent thereon ; a soaring attempt at subUmity, which fkUeth into bombast ; and divcn other mattew.1 



"Hail moBe," etc — ^though each bardling sings 
Of noble deeds of which he always knew litde, 

Afy soul shall mount on Poesy's sounding wings, 
T* exalt the name of Zethaniah Doouttlb! 

A man waa he, though great in many things, 
fn stature small, for in his size be grew little. 

His mind was kneaded well with holy leaven; 

And in its boundless thought was huge as heaven ; 

His length was just five feet, age twenty-seven. 

It is the custom, which I shan't adhere to^ 

To sing about a hero's early days^ 
About the parents whom the boy was dear to; 

How oft the yoanster studies, how oft plays ; 
How his bold spirit made his teachers fear to 

Correct hJa manners, or amend his waya. 
Ill overlook the days of his minority. 
As also six long years of his majority. 
And hold for this, mys^, as good authority. 

Cor hero thought, (a very curious notion,) 

That he could preach an edifying sermon. 
Such as would draw from out the vasty ocean 
All monstrous things, from whales down unto mer- 
men; 
Make lacing belles forsake their Almond Lolion, 
Dandies their lisp, philosophers their German ; 
In short, upset each foul and knavish trick. 
Of he whom preachers from the world would kick. 
That monstrous scamp and master de'il— old Nick. 

Who has not fell thy fierce and wild desire. 

In works a demon, and in thought a God — 
Ambition ! e*en thy name awakes a fire 

Within our souls that bends us to thy nod : 
If ihon were not, all striving would expire. 

And mankind think of nothing but to plod. 
Some grope through life unnoticed and unknown, 
Bat bolder spirits bend before thy throne. 
Seeking &r &me e*er life and hope be flown. 



The man who creeps amid the common throng. 

Within whose breast dwells not ambition's form» 
Who heeds not, hears not emulation's song, 
Is but a worm— a vile, degraded worm. . 
Smile if you will, my reader. Gad ! ere long. 

You'll own me right Ambition is the germ 
From whence all growth of nobleness proceeds ;— 
A blooming flower amid a host of weeds, 
It proves a goad, which prompts to glorious deeds. 

Inspired by this, the poets numbers roll 
From off* the lyre, in tuneful harmony, 
Causing his swelling thought and raptured soul 

To soar in regions of blest poesy, 
Spuming the clods that would his mind control^ 

And roving with imagination free. 
Why does he this ? say what the mighty laws 
Bind him to leave the world f its sordid cause f 
Does not ambition urge that world*s applause f 

But not alone the monarch of the lyre, 

Whose words are melody, whose voice is song, 
Dost thou with feelings emulant inspire ; 

For see ! a mortal from the plodding throng 
Has heard thy voice, has felt thy startling fire, 
And men of might and master souls among, 
Has snatched a station with a grasping hand, 
A nation trembles at his bold command. 
His frown alarms, his anger shakes the land. 

The painter and the sculptor feel thy power. 
It is Ihy mandate calls their bodyings forth. 
All bow thy magic influence before, 

Thou mighty monarch o'er the great of earth; 
Cynics at thee may snarl each passing hour. 

Fools may deride, and grovellers scorn thy wortl^ 
Still of thy mighty power will poets sing, 
By thee allured, forget their sorrowing. 
And crown tbM mon.^h!.«^^»f^w^^[e 



188 



THE GENTLEHAN^S HAOAZtNE. 



Oor hero took the fitting tteps, and made 

Due preparations for hit first appearance 
Upon that depot of the preaching trade— 

The pulpit. Now, I'll give my muse a clearance 
From all uncouth rhvme, whether sung or said, 
Or else I'll scarcely merit much forbearance, 
For though the measure's modelled after Dorset, 
The rhyme is rather in a strain en cortet. 
Unyielding, stem, stiff, rascally, and forced. 

There's one alone on earth whose dulnets read is, 
'Tis BsNNT Brandrkth, curer of all ills~- 

He, quite successful at the quacking trade is. 
And, storing cash by selling off* his pills. 

Defies the ire of all blue-stocking ladies. 
Seeming to wield at least a thousand quills. 

He is the man that jokes and champagne cracks. 

All known diseases with success attacks, 

LOU) OF EMPIKICS, POTENTATE OF QUACKS ! 

There's oculist John Williams, great eye-curer. 
Inserting eyes where none had been before. 

Making the blindest to see firmer, surer. 
And those that much do see, to see the more. 

B« gulls the public, and what judge or juror 
Imprisons him as rogue, or thief, or bore ? 

Why none at all. The herd and vulgar ma« 

Will have it not, but let him onward pass, 

Riding triumphant on the public ass. 

And there's Monsieur, the An'mal Magnetixer, 
And his half score of ** petite demoiseUes,** 

Who when asleep than waking folks are wiser. 
Knowing of aught. (What sage and potent belles!) 

Hence and begone, Stokes, Stockton, Reeside, Keyser, 
No more you're wanted, so sage Poyen tells ; 

His air-lid es favor of a " no-go" motion. 

Or at the best, a very slow-go notion. 

And much beneath our old steam locomotion. 

Though to be sure it would be quite convenient, 
(Lord, how the country folks would gape and stare 

Whene'er beholding such a sage expedient,) 
To start express mails through the upper air — 

Oar Congress, to the peoples voice obedient, 
Must have a sapient magnetizer there. 

Our doings to report. Then they, (the elves) 

Would know our thoughts much better than our- 
selves. 

(Twould save the mire in which that body delves.) 

But to talk serious — what is this famed science 

Which makes the blind to see, the deaf to hear. 
Transforming idiots into mental giants, 

Making their thoughts no more confused, but clear. 
And bidding rules of common sense defiance ? 

'Tis something strange, and there&re 'tis more 
dear 
To some than was to Egypt's Queen, the